


1001 Wishes

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Series: 1001 Wishes [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU with mythological/fairy tale elements, Alternative Timeline, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Bilbo and Thorin are SO oblivious, Cultural Differences, Erebor fell in the First Age, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Thilbo, Thorin is a djinn/genie in a bottle, bagginshield, hobbit au, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Something as little as an ancient phial changes Bilbo's life for it contains neither wine nor perfume, but a figure from fairy tale: a djinn. Suddenly, Bilbo finds the dwarf Thorin at his service. But a djinn, bound to fulfil every wish he utters, shouldn't scowl at him like that, should he...?But Bilbo begins to grow fond of Thorin - and not because of the djinn's power to fulfil his every wish ...





	1. Thorin at your service

The phial looked strange.

Bilbo couldn’t remember ever having seen it before. He wondered where his parents had gotten such a strange thing from, or if they had known of its existence at all. It had definitely been neglected as he could tell from its layer of dust. He wiped it away with the utmost caution – the flask was small, smaller than his hand, and deemed him very fragile. But if he had hoped to find something of value underneath the grey dust, he got disappointed: What may once have been a thin layer of precious metal was covered beyond recognition with a patina, and the adornments on its body were so dull with age that he couldn’t even tell if they were valuable jewels or simple glass. Bilbo held the phial to his ear and shook it slightly, but he couldn’t make out any noise. If it was empty?

His thumb and forefinger closed around the cork to pull it out when the doorbell rang.

Bilbo’s face twitched at this inconvenient interruption. He let go of the cork nonetheless and headed for the door, putting the phial on a table in the hallway in passing. He wasn’t piqued at the interruption anymore, however, as he looked into the face of his cousin Primula. She smiled at him, although it seemed a bit forced, and her greeting sounded too cheerful as well.

“Good day, Bilbo. I hope I don’t come amiss?”

“You can never come at an inconvenient time, Primula.” Bilbo invited her to enter with a little bow. “I was just doing some … sort of spring-clean. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the parlour while I make us some tea?”

Primula chuckled. “You can read my mind. I was on a stroll through the village when I thought that I could visit my dearest cousin and have a cup of tea with him.”

“And have a look at how he’s doing”, Bilbo remarked dryly as he led her into the parlour. “No, Primula, don’t try to deny it. I don’t take offense at your worries, but I’m fine. Really.” He gave her an assuring smile as she sat down in one of the armchairs.

However, Bilbo couldn’t suppress a small sigh as he went into the kitchen to prepare the tea. Primula worried too much, and she wasn’t the only one. His relatives, his neighbours, even casual acquaintances worried about him.

And truth was that they did so with good reason, despite what he had told his cousin.

The last two years seemed like a constant succession of miseries to him, and there was no end in sight. His stomach twisted at this realization, and he had to support himself on the sideboard for a moment.

The first and most devastating blow in this cruel sequence had been the unexpected death of his parents. It had completely pulled the rug out from under his feet, and he had struggled through his days as if wading through fog. There hadn’t been a single thing he could do without being reminded of his loss. Anything and everything had reminded him of his parents: the armchair in which his father had used to sit while having tea; the little basket with yarn and knitting needles his mother had always put under the side table; the picture above the fireplace that showed all three of them together. He had grieved, grieved deeply, and, how some rumoured, maybe too much for a hobbit of his respectable age of thirty-six. But the new master of Bag End had felt terribly lonely in a home that hadn’t felt familiar anymore, and that had made him neglect his duties … which had led to the next misfortune.

It had been raining heavily in the Shire for some weeks, and Bilbo, aimlessly wandering through the dark halls of Bag End, had not noticed the constant dripping of water through a leak into one of the bedrooms. When the quiet trickle had finally caught his attention, it had been too late: The water had drenched the ceiling, the wooden boarding, the floor. He had had to call craftsmen to prevent the room from collapsing altogether, and when it came to paying them, he had discovered the next problem.

His parents may have left him Bag End, but they hadn’t left him a fortune. There had always been rumours about the generous dowry the Old Took had given his daughter – some said because Belladonna had been his favourite daughter, some said because she had been his most difficult daughter, and he had been glad, even relieved to see her settle down on such good terms, marrying a respectable Baggins. Most of this money had been invested in the building of Bag End, but there had been enough left to enable them a comfortable life. Or at least that was what Bilbo had thought. If he was honest, he had never cared much about his parent’s financial situation. He was afraid he had taken too much for granted. But he had been determined not to be downcast because of that discovery. If there was little money left, it simply meant that he had to earn some. No reason to worry.

But it had become something to worry about. Bilbo was an apt cook and gardener, but many hobbits were, and most of them were more talented than he was. Bilbo was more of a scholar; he had always been interested in books and maps and songs. But the inhabitants of Hobbiton didn’t require the skills of a scholar, and Bilbo had stayed unemployed. The prospects of changing this condition quickly hadn’t been bright either, so he had tried to save money wherever he could, mostly in his diet: The pantry had gotten alarmingly empty, he had eaten his porridge with water instead of milk or cream, and his tea had been bitter with the lack of honey.

And yet his efforts had been futile. The constant worries and the meagre fare had taken their toll, and he had gotten ill. He had tried to ignore the first warning signs, the headaches, the weariness, the fitful sleep. He had tried until his body had just given in to the pressure. One moment, he had walked across the market place, twisting some coins in his pocket and calculating if he could afford to buy some potatoes when suddenly his knees had begun to buckle, and the next moment he had been in his bed, worried faces all around him.

His healing process had been a slow one. Although Primula and some others had taken care of him as best as they could – Hamfast’s wife had been a true sunshine –, they hadn’t been able to stay with him all the time. So a tender had been hired, and Bilbo had almost seen how the last coins had been running through his fingers like sand. He had known too well that the expenses for his own cure would drive him out of Bag End.

Because he hadn’t been able to deny it any longer: He couldn’t afford living in Bag End anymore. He had to sell it. He had to leave his beloved home.

He had not accepted this fact yet, though. His rummaging around was a last clamour, a last desperate attempt to find a miracle, something that would free him from this ever-lasting nightmare, from almost two years of despair.

It hadn’t appeared, though.

He wasn’t ready to tell anyone of his decision to move yet, so he put on a smile as he returned into the parlour, balancing a tray with two cups of steaming tea. He noticed that Primula curiously eyed some half-opened drawers and chests as well as a pile of bits and pieces. Nothing that had any value, except for him.

“I was just cleaning up a bit”, he explained after sitting down. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit lax in the last time, so I decided for some sort of spring-clean.” Primula looked at him over the rim of her cup doubtfully, but didn’t say anything. She also stayed silent when she noticed that there were milk and honey on the tray, but that Bilbo didn’t take anything of it.

“A spring-clean”, she broke the silence at last. “You’re not overexerting yourself, I hope?”

“I don’t. I’m …” Bilbo hesitated for a moment. He had intended to say ‘fine’, but he found that he couldn’t lie straight into Primula’s face. Besides, it was obvious that he wasn’t doing too well: The sickness had left its traces, and he was still pale and rather lean. “I’m already feeling better”, he concluded therefore.

“If you need help …”, Primula began, but he interrupted her with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you, Primula. I’m very grateful for your kindness. But we’ve talked about this matter enough, don’t you agree? Let’s talk about something more cheerful. Please.”

Primula smiled softly at him. “Of course. Have you heard of the incident with one of the youngest Tooks last evening in the Green Dragon? Actually, I shouldn’t call it an incident. The whole town’s speaking of the mess that fool caused. I mean, climbing on a table for some dancing and singing isn’t bad, but he was already that drunk it was a miracle he managed to get on the table at all!”

They still chattered when their cups were empty, talking about anything and everything, and Bilbo was glad for the distraction. The sun was almost setting when Primula cried out: “My dear, I’ve encroached on your time. I prevented you from your chores for far too long.”

“Don’t worry”, Bilbo appeased her. “I enjoyed our talk very much, so there is no need to apologize.” He accompanied his cousin to the door and bid her goodbye with a hug. “I really did. Thank you, Primula.”

She gave him a smile. “You’re welcome. And don’t forget what I told you! If you need any help …” Her voice trailed off, and he could clearly see on her face how worried she was.

“Thank you”, he said once more with a soft smile. As soon as the door had closed behind her, however, Bilbo slouched his shoulders. Suddenly he felt very tired. Would he really be able to tell Primula – or anyone – the truth? That nothing was alright, and that he wasn’t feeling better at all? That he had to leave Bag End, and that the sole thought broke his heart? He let out a shaky breath. Just standing here and imagining bad things wouldn’t solve his problems. He had to occupy himself with something, anything, to get a bit distraction. He could start with washing the tea set. That would give him some sense of normality.

It was on his way back into the parlour that he remembered the phial.

He took it in passing and tugged at the cork. Old as the phial was, he had thought it to be tight, but he could pull it out effortlessly. Bilbo stopped and raised it to glance inside. He could see nothing but darkness, and there was no noise as he shook the phial. So it was empty after all. What a pity.

Bilbo shrugged and turned to put the phial back on the table.

That was when he bumped into someone.

He gasped – it had almost felt like running against a stone wall. He stumbled a few paces back to look at his unexpected visitor and had to admit that this comparison wasn’t farfetched.

His visitor was a dwarf.

Bilbo had seen dwarves travelling through the Shire, so there was no way he could mistake the bulky appearance, the broad shoulders, or the dark beard. However, he thought it unusual for a dwarf to have a short trimmed beard. On the other hand, his clothes looked exceptional as well. He wore a wide grey-blue shirt with short sleeves and a deep neckline – it seemed to reveal more of his broad chest than actually cover it. The waistcoat – of a deep midnight blue, decorated with silver embroideries, and at knee-length – had no sleeves at all. The dark trousers deemed Bilbo odd as well: They were loose, but got tight at the ankles, and – Bilbo’s eyes widened – this special dwarf didn’t wear any boots. He was barefooted like a hobbit! His only footwear was a silver anklet, one of many pieces of jewellery. The dwarf wore lots of bangles, silver ones as well as leather ones, on his bare arms and around his wrists, and rings shone on his fingers. Beads were woven into two braids on the side of his face whereas the rest of his long dark hair was tied back into a loose ponytail. Therefore, Bilbo could also see silver ear rings.

Suddenly he realized that he was staring at the dwarf, and that – whether he was an unexpected visitor or not – was immensely impolite.

Maybe the dwarf thought the same, for when Bilbo looked into his face he was met with a scowl. Blue eyes studied him as if trying to pierce him, and the distinctive, almost regal features of the dwarf’s face only added to that effect.

Bilbo was surprised all the more when the dwarf bowed down and spoke in a deep velvet voice: “Thorin at your service.”

He blinked at him in confusion. At your service? That sounded rather formal and polite. He had difficulties to bring it in accordance with that scowl. At least he gathered his wits to answer what deemed him appropriate: “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”

Thorin huffed dismissively, but said nothing. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and glanced at Bilbo in a way that made the hobbit feel very, very uncomfortable.

“I, ahem”, he began, “I’m not sure if you’re in the right house.” He got no answer, so he went on: “Maybe you’ve lost your way? And entered the wrong house?” Oh dear, that gaze would cut through stone! “I’m afraid that there is some mistake –“

“There is no mistake”, Thorin interrupted him rather harshly. “You opened the bottle.”

Bilbo looked down on the phial. He had almost forgotten that he still held it in his hands. “I don’t think that I understand – “

“You opened the bottle”, the dwarf repeated. “ _My_ bottle. That makes you my new master.”

Bilbo frowned at the dwarf. Bottles? Masters? He didn’t understand a thing. “Can you be a bit less taciturn?”

To his surprise, Thorin made a bow. “As you wish, Master. I am a djinn that was trapped inside the bottle you opened. By doing so, you freed me, and now I am bound to serve you.”

“A djinn!”, Bilbo exclaimed astonished, remembering fairy tales from his childhood. “You’re a djinn! But I always thought them to be more … ghostlike, you know? A bit like fog. But you seem to be like any other person, made of flesh and blood …” Delighted with the nature of his unexpected visitor, he took a step forward and touched Thorin’s chest, as if to check if he was really made of flesh and blood. The dwarf – djinn! – didn’t flinch back, but his scowl got even deeper. Bilbo, however, laughed. “A djinn! Does that mean I have three wishes?”

“I am bound to serve you”, Thorin repeated stubbornly. “I will fulfil every wish you utter for as long as you are my Master.”

“As long as I’m your Master? And how long is that exactly?”

“As long as you want. If you decide that you do not need my service any longer, you can command me to return into the bottle again. Otherwise, I will serve you as long as your life lasts.”

“My life …” Bilbo felt rather overwhelmed. The djinn’s words still echoed through his mind. Every wish he uttered? A faint hope began to blossom in him. “Can I wish for … silver coins?”, he asked hesitantly. His first intention had been to ask for gold coins, but he didn’t want to seem greedy.

“You can”, Thorin answered, maintaining a blank face.

Bilbo couldn’t suppress a tiny laugh. Silver coins. He could wish for silver coins. As many as he wanted. His financial problems would come to an end. He wouldn’t have to leave Bag End after all. He could stay in his beloved home.

Before he could frame a wish, Thorin added: “I am obliged to warn you: Your wishes should be as precise as possible. Bad things could happen otherwise.” He didn’t sound as if he would care too much if bad things would really happen.

“Oh.” The hobbit looked around. His gaze fell on a small, empty chest, and he pointed at it. “I wish this chest would be filled with silver coins”, he said. “Hobbitish silver coins”, he added. Otherwise he might get some strange coins from the other side of the world, and buying milk with them at the market could get rather awkward.

This time, Thorin nodded. He mumbled some words in a strange, harsh language, and suddenly the chest was filled with shiny silver. Bilbo didn’t know how the coins had gotten in there. He was sure that he hadn’t even blinked. They had just appeared.

He knelt down and touched some of the coins in awe. He was afraid that they could just disappear, but they didn’t. They weren’t just an illusion. They stayed. They were his.

Getting bolder, Bilbo ran his hands through the coins, marvelling at the feeling of chill silver on his skin, and he laughed.

It seemed he had found hope after all.


	2. What have I got in my pocket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a new morning dawns, Bilbo finds that he hasn't been dreaming, and he's really the new master of the djinn Thorin. This comes with a bunch of things he has to learn, and although most of them sound quite fun, there are also some that deem him quite unsettling: With a djinn at his side, even activities of daily living can turn into pitfalls ...

Bilbo woke up as a sunbeam tickled his nose.

He opened his eyes and stretched himself, but made no effort to get up yet. Instead, he settled back into his pillows and lazily watched some particles of dust dancing in the sunbeam that had found its way through the curtains. He hadn’t felt that calm and rested for a long time. His sleep had been fitful recently, and he had often awoken wondering if he would also wake up in his own bed at Bag End the next day, or if it would already belong to somebody else.

But those worries were over and done with. After all, he had a djinn now.

Bilbo couldn’t suppress a giggle, and he hugged his pillow like an excited child on its birthday. A djinn. A creature that was bound to fulfil every wish he uttered. It sounded unbelievable, as if he had stepped right into a fairy tale. But it was neither a story nor a dream. It was real.

He had been giddy with happiness the day before – he still was –, and hadn’t been able to stop staring at his chest of silver coins. Therefore, he hadn’t felt calm enough to consider his new situation properly and to ask Thorin in detail what becoming the master of a djinn meant. It was a minor miracle that Bilbo had had enough wits left to prepare the second-best bedroom for his guest. He had felt a bit awkward, though – he didn’t even know if a djinn needed sleep at all.

Probably not, for when Bilbo finally got up and opened the bedroom door he almost bumped into Thorin. The djinn was sitting on the doorstep with his back straightened as if on high alert. Bilbo wouldn’t have been surprised if a weapon had rested on Thorin’s knees.

“Goodness, Thorin”, he exclaimed, “did you sit there the whole night?”

“You told me yesterday to go to sleep or do ‘whatever djinns do’, Master Baggins”, he answered in a level voice. “Most of my former masters wanted me to guard their rooms, so I guarded your room tonight.”

“But you don’t have to guard my bedroom.” Bilbo shook his head half in disbelief, half in amusement. Most people in the Shire didn’t even lock their doors at night simply because there was no reason to do so. The only things that had to be protected were fruit trees or vegetable patches, and the burglars were faunts that had no malicious intent; they only wanted to fill their bellies. Besides, stealing fruits from a neighbour’s garden was regarded as sports. Bilbo had participated in this pastime more than once.

“By the by”, he said, “does this mean you don’t have to sleep at all?”

Thorin still sat on the doorstep and showed no intention to abandon his post. “I can go with very little sleep.”

Well, that could mean all or nothing. “How about breakfast?”, Bilbo asked instead.

“I can go with very little food.”

It took the hobbit some effort not to sigh because of his djinn’s taciturnity. “But if I offer you something, will you eat it? Or do I have to wish for you to eat?”

“That will not be necessary.”

Some effort indeed … “Just come on”, Bilbo said with a shrug and went ahead into the kitchen.

Truth be told, it would have been a rather poor breakfast without his djinn, consisting only of thin porridge. But, being able to wish for whatever he wanted, it would be a feast. His stomach growled audibly as the smell of fried eggs, bacon, and toast spread in the kitchen. It felt like ages since he had eaten a proper breakfast the last time.

Bilbo had made sure to make precise wishes, remembering Thorin’s warning that bad things could happen otherwise. Furthermore, he had only wished for what he needed to make breakfast for the two of them. As there was no need to count every coin anymore, he wanted to fill his pantry again. He would definitely enjoy a stroll about the market, being able to buy what he needed and wanted, without having to worry about his expenses. It deemed Bilbo like regaining a part of his old life.

Besides, his common sense told him that no food he could wish for would be as tasty as the food grown and sold by hobbits.

But goodness, the wished-for food tasted delicious.

Even his djinn seemed to share his opinion. Bilbo watched him during their meal – he tried to be not too obvious, though. Thorin maintained a blank face, but his eyes betrayed his reserved behaviour. Bilbo thought he saw something in them – not exactly delight, that would be too much to ask of the restrained djinn –, but he thought to see astonishment, even a spark of gratitude. There was something about that expression that made him feel embarrassed for being so curious, and he quickly lowered his head.

His mood improved instantly for the food was delicious. Bilbo tucked in cheerily and went back for seconds as well. He also refilled Thorin’s plate and bowl and cup without even asking if he wanted more. He looked as if he could do with more food; he was rather lean for a dwarf. Muscular, almost like a warrior, but still …

Finally, the table in front of them was empty, apart from some bread crumbs. Bilbo settled back in his chair with a content sigh. Pipe-weed. He definitely had to buy pipe-weed. That was one of the things you couldn’t wish for. Not even a djinn could get him something as good as some Old Toby or Longbottom Leaf.

Now that he was thinking about wishes … It would be a good opportunity to learn more about the whole djinn-master-matter.

“So”, Bilbo began slowly, not really knowing how to continue this talk at this point already – how should he? He was about to ask his djinn if there were any rules for him, his new master! “Is there anything I should know about … being master of a djinn?” How weird that sounded!

Thorin didn’t mind, though. “I am bound to serve my master. My master is the one who opened and owns my bottle”, he replied, his voice calm. In fact, he sounded slightly bored, as if he were repeating things he had already told hundreds of times. Maybe he had. “I cannot remove myself very far from the bottle. Therefore you have to keep it close to you.”

“Understood.” Bilbo pondered where he had left the bottle the evening before. In the parlour, he assumed, where he had sat with Thorin for a while. He hoped the djinn had not noticed his uneasiness. Misplacing such an important thing – on the first day at that – would cast a poor light on him as a master.

“What does that mean, you can’t move far away from the bottle?”, he asked to avoid more talk about the bottle and its whereabouts.

“If I have to move to another place to fulfil a wish of yours, I can go very far. But this is an exception. In any other case I have to stay within earshot.”

“To hear my wishes, I guess?”

“That is correct. I will fulfil every wish you utter, albeit my power over other people is limited. I cannot change their thoughts, memories, or feelings. I have no power over life and death. I cannot bring back the dead, and if you wish to see someone dead, I have to set out by myself to fulfil this wish. Then I can remove myself from you and the bottle.”

Bilbo choked on his tea. When his coughing fit was over, he stared at Thorin. “Being on guard and getting … rid of people – are these the wishes most asked for? My goodness, Thorin, who would ask you to kill someone? Did you serve the Dark Lord himself?”

The djinn didn’t show any emotion when he answered: “Not quite.”

Bilbo wanted to respond something, but found that he couldn’t. For the first time he noticed the scars on Thorin’s arms. Most of them looked like thin white lines, almost faded, but there was one that still looked rather ugly. But there were so many, and he could only see Thorin’s arms! If there were more scars hidden underneath his clothes?

“Have you ever”, Bilbo finally managed, and his voice was breathy, “tried to disregard a wish?”

“Yes. It is a hopeless task.” Thorin made no attempt to go into detail, so the hobbit also stayed silent. His grip around the tea cup had tightened. Being the master of a djinn deemed him unbelievable, but in an exciting, uplifting way. To think that the same djinn had served someone who could be named with the Dark Lord in one breath was unbelievable as well, but in a most disturbing way. Bilbo felt very cold all of a sudden, and he pulled his dressing gown tightly around him.

Thorin seemed to have finished his explanations, and the silence between them lengthened. Bilbo’s tea cup was already empty so that he couldn’t even take a sip to cover his uneasiness. Instead, he coughed slightly to regain the djinn’s attention.

As soon as he felt the piercing blue eyes on him, he explained: “I’d like to go to the market, so I’ll just dress up quickly, and – ahem …” He made a gesture that enclosed the dirty dishes. “I wish the dishes were clean and on their usual places in the cupboard, and after that …” His voice trailed off. He felt like telling a servant to clean up after him, and to wait for him afterwards to receive new orders. Wishing for silver to put an end to his financial problems, or for some breakfast ingredients hadn’t bothered him much, but this? Asking a djinn to do his household chores deemed him like a wasted wish. After all, he could wash the dishes by himself without any trouble. And he wouldn’t feel that self-important …

But Thorin simply nodded. “As you wish, Master Baggins. I will wait until you are ready to accompany you.”

The hobbit returned the nod. He had hardly left the kitchen when he heard the clattering of crockery and cutlery. He could only hope that his wish had been precise enough, and that his mother’s West Farthing pottery wouldn’t be smashed.

As he dressed, a thought occurred to him: Thorin had to stay within earshot, and he had also said that he would accompany him. Did that mean that he would actually walk next to him through Hobbiton? That could cause some … irritation in the village. It would have been difficult enough to explain why a dwarf was with him, even one that didn’t look as exotic as Thorin in his strange clothes.

Bilbo quickly tied his neckerchief, grabbed the bottle – it had really been on a table in the parlour – and went into the entrance hall. His djinn was already waiting there, standing as still as a statue carved of stone.

Bilbo decided for a frontal attack: “Thorin, can other people actually see you?”

“Of course.”

 _As matter-of-fact as always._ “Then I’m afraid you have to stay at Bag End.” Bilbo just _couldn’t_ walk through the village with a dwarf – a djinn at that! – at his side, at least not without some preparations. He had to come up with a plausible explanation for Thorin’s presence. Maybe he would pass as an ordinary dwarf. Or he could wish for Thorin to stay at Bag End. The other possibility would be telling his fellow hobbits that he had freed a djinn who now served him and fulfilled every wish he uttered …

Bilbo shook his head at the sole thought. That was impossible. Nobody would believe him. After all, he could hardly believe it himself. And if some lunatics actually did – would it be that desirable? The news of his djinn would spread like news of free beer at the Green Dragon Inn, and people would sooner or later queue in front of his door, asking him to utter one wish after another for them, and Bilbo didn’t like the thought of lending Thorin out as if he were a pair of garden scissors. And if he was honest, he didn’t like the thought of people queuing in front of Bag End either.

Or – he remembered Thorin’s warning to always keep the bottle close to him – if somebody tried to steal his djinn from him? Bilbo felt guilty at once, but could he really exclude this possibility? The prospect of being able to have all wishes fulfilled was alluring, after all …

Time. He needed some time to think about the matter properly.

But Thorin left him no time. “You are my master”, he declared. “I am obliged to stay close to you.”

For a moment, Bilbo was really tempted to wish for the situation to be different. Things might get complicated if he couldn’t even go to the market without Thorin. But he only shrugged – that was also something to think about when he had more time.

“It can’t be helped, I guess. But can you at least … hide? So that nobody sees you?”

It seemed he had touched a sore spot, for Thorin shifted from one foot to the other. It was the first sign of a strong emotion Bilbo clearly noticed on his djinn. He could only hope it wasn’t a bad omen that it was uneasiness.

“Is that your wish?”

“As I said: It can’t be helped. Therefore, I wish that the other hobbits wouldn’t see you when we are out there.”

A soft sigh, and the uneasiness on Thorin’s face was replaced by a scowl. He uttered some throaty words, and while Bilbo was still wondering if he spoke dwarvish, the djinn disappeared. Bilbo’s gaze had been set on the djinn, and he hadn’t blinked, but Thorin was gone. It was the same situation like the night before when the coins had suddenly appeared, only in reverse.

“Thorin?”, he called into the empty hallway.

Maybe he would get used to things simply appearing out of thin air …

 “I am here, Master Baggins.”

Although he couldn’t see the djinn, the voice sounded close. It was still deep, but somewhat muffled. Bilbo turned around in a circle. His gaze fell upon the side table, the umbrella stand, even on the coat pegs. No sign of Thorin.

“Here”, the voice told him once more, and Bilbo turned again.

His jaw dropped when he finally realized that Thorin wasn’t gone at all. He had just become very, very small.

The djinn stood _on_ the side table. Bilbo hadn’t seen him before because he had shrunk and was now smaller than the hobbit’s hand. There was a book on the table as well – actually a rather slim volume, but it looked huge in comparison to Thorin. Not to mention the bowl that was usually filled with fruits, but now was empty.

Bilbo squatted down and rested his chin on the table top. He had to blink several times, but he wasn’t looking at an illusion. “I thought your power over people was limited”, he finally broke the silence.

“Over other people”, Thorin corrected with a voice that seemed way too deep to belong to such a tiny creature. “But I am a djinn. You are the master, so my power over you is enhanced as well.”

“Does this mean I could be this tiny as well?”

“If you wish to be.”

“Not at the moment.” To himself, Bilbo thought that Thorin could have mentioned this power of his earlier. _But when you have masters that send you out to kill other people, you’ll learn to reveal as little as possible, I guess. So, where do I hide him while we’re out …?_

“Is it okay if I put you in my pocket? You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“It is alright.” Thorin climbed on Bilbo’s outstretched palm and further on into the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t feel like an illusion at all as he moved over Bilbo’s hand, but quite real, just like any other being made of flesh and blood. Bilbo was afraid that he would get rather jarred in there. He left Bag End and asked Thorin how he was after the first few steps, but received no answer. He didn’t ask a second time, though – soon they were approaching the market, and Bilbo had no clue what he would reply if anybody wanted to know why he was talking into his pockets.

But if he had really been talking into his pockets, the stares couldn’t have been more unsettling.

Bilbo pretended not to notice them, although he could almost feel the glances. After all, he had regularly caused tongues to wag during the last two years. His unexpected breakdown right in the centre of the marketplace had been just one of several noteworthy occasions concerning Mister Baggins of Bag End for the blabbermouths. Moreover, he had kept to himself in recent times, and that had been considered strange as well. He was sure most of the other hobbits considered him odd and unsociable by now … or they pitied him, and he liked neither possibility.

Strolling about the marketplace, looking at the displays, and being able to purchase whatever he liked rose his spirits rapidly, though. The coins he had wished for were accepted without further requests, and his basket filled quickly. Some hobbits gave him a puzzled look, remembering how economical – thrifty, to be precise – he had been before his sickness. But Bilbo was already thinking of the delicious meals he would cook in the next few days, and a smile spread on his face.

He had to push these nice thoughts beside, however, as someone called his name, and he saw his aunt Mirabella approaching him. He returned her joyful waving, but his smile got a bit forced. His mother’s youngest sister was a vivid lady, and he was grateful that she had also taken care of him during his sickness. But she loved to chat and laugh and gossip, and that could make talking to her exhausting.

“My dear Bilbo”, she began when she stood before him, “I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you doing?”

“Hello, aunt Mirabella”, he greeted her, “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“You’re sure? You look a bit pale, my dear”, she remarked with a doubtful glance all over him while readjusting her bonnet. “After all, you’ve been sick for such a long time …”

“I know”, Bilbo interrupted her before she could continue, “but I’m feeling better now. Really.” He was touched by his aunt’s concern, but he wished that she wouldn’t speak that loud. He got the feeling that at least half of the hobbits at the market were staring at them, and that made him tug at his neckerchief. Perhaps he had really become unsociable. He wasn’t used to such crowds anymore, and he had never felt like that amongst the other hobbits – so … so exposed.

Mirabella gave him a well-meant slap on the shoulder. “Maybe you’re right. At least you’re filling up your pantry again, I see. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? You look far too skinny for a hobbit, if I daresay.”

Now Bilbo was sure that _everybody_ was looking. His aunt’s comment about empty pantries and skinny-looking hobbits had been loud and juicy enough for the bystanders to strain their ears. Many were already whispering, and some were even pointing at him, although they had the decency to do so not too noticeably. Bilbo blushed right up to the tip of his ears, and he tugged at his neckerchief with more force. The situation couldn’t get worse, even if Thorin would decide to climb out of his pocket in that moment.

“I”, he began, thinking frantically of a way to end this talk with his aunt before she could convince him of the contrary. However, no words would come over his lips. Bilbo had never considered himself a smooth talker. He knew how to arrange words elegantly on paper, and he also preferred this kind of communication. That didn’t mean he couldn’t express himself verbally, though, and he definitely had a quick tongue.

But here, amidst the crowd, and face to face with his aunt, his voice failed. He just didn’t know what to answer, or how to react at all. It was just a talk, an everyday situation! What was wrong with him? Maybe his recent solitariness had its effect on him, after all … The word ‘unsociable’ echoed through his mind, and he swallowed.

He realized in this moment that his djinn would not solve all of his problems. He couldn’t change Bilbo being the centre of attention and gossip, not after all that had happened. But that was okay. He took a deep breath. No reason to lose heart.

Bilbo had been too lost in thoughts to grasp what aunt Mirabella was talking about, but the name of his mother brought him back to his senses. _If mother and father would consider me odd as well?_

That thought was too much, and suddenly he just wanted to seek refuge in his home. He mumbled something – he couldn’t hear his own voice over the beating of his heart – and turned around. Half-blind with the desire to get away, Bilbo bumped into a girl and sent the content of her basket on the ground.

“I-I’m sorry”, he muttered breathlessly and blinked at the chaos of vegetables, flour, and broken eggs to his feet. It was strange, but this incident somehow brought him back down to earth. He knelt down to save what could be saved.

“Please don’t bother, Mister Baggins”, the girl – one of the young Hornblowers, he thought – told him as he began to put the carrots back into her basket. “I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense”, Bilbo replied, glad to have something to do that distracted him from his anxiety attack. He looked at the broken eggs, the scattered flour, and the dirty vegetables. As the girl tried to assure him once more that he didn’t have to do this, he raised his hand. “I’m awfully sorry. I wish to make up for what I broke.”

He knew instantly that he had made a mistake – as well as he knew that it was already too late.

With a sharp sound, the seam of his pocket was torn apart, and coins fell out. It was at least a dozen of them, and they were made of gold. Pure shimmering gold.

Bilbo stared in disbelief at this treasure, and he wasn’t the only one. Everybody else stared at the gold glistening in the sunshine. After moments of silence, someone gave a cry of astonishment and thus broke the spell.

Within seconds there was utter chaos. All hobbits started to talk at the same time and tried to outdo each other to be heard. Some gestured at the gold in disbelief, and somebody even grabbed one of the coins to hold it close to his eye. “Gold!”, he stated the obvious, and the noise increased.

Bilbo decided that now was the time to flee.

He got on his feet, turned around and ran. He ignored the upset calls and just moved on, moved like in a haze, not seeing or hearing anything, moved on until the door of Bag End closed behind him, and he could sink against it. He closed his eyes as if he could block out the rest of the world by doing so.

He didn’t open his eyes until he felt some movement in his pocket, and when he looked down he saw Thorin peeping out of it.

“There was no need for you to hurry back to your home, Master Baggins”, Thorin said quietly after some moments. “I could have brought you here.”

Bilbo frowned. “Didn’t you say you have little power over other people?” He dimly remembered already having asked this question, but he didn’t care right now. Besides, everything was better than recalling what had just happened.

The djinn shrugged. “But you are the master.”

There was something about the movement that made Bilbo smile a little. “Thank you for your offer, but I think it was better this way. I have caused enough trouble without dissolving into thin air.” He sighed and buried his face in his hands. He felt weary.

They were silent for a while until Bilbo dropped his hands and began to speak slowly: “You see, I had … some difficult times. My … my parents died, and I got very sick after that. The world how I knew it was falling apart. I felt really hopeless back then.”

 _Back then_ , he thought to himself and almost snorted. _It was only yesterday, remember that._

“And when I just thought that things might finally get better … _this_ happens. Sometimes I feel as if I’m cursed.”

Suddenly Thorin was no longer in his pocket, but standing in front of him in full size again. Although he looked down on his master, he didn’t seem restrained just now. There was something about him – something in his eyes … Bilbo couldn’t name it, but in this moment he felt a strange kind of bond to Thorin. Maybe he had not always been a djinn, and he knew just too well what a world falling apart meant.

Bilbo’s lips opened to ask him about his past, but at the same time he could see a shadow falling upon Thorin’s face, and a heartbeat later he seemed as withdrawn as usual.

“Well”, Bilbo said instead and reached for his basket. At least he had not forgotten it amidst the chaos. “I could definitely do with some tea now. How about you? Would you like to join me? I could also make us some tartlets …Do you like blueberries?”

Thorin made a movement that could be everything from a nod to a shake of the head to a pout. But as Bilbo went into the kitchen, the djinn followed his master like a shadow.

                                  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I admit it: One of the main reasons why I write this whole fic is tiny!Thorin peeping out of Bilbo's pocket. Too cute to resist ...  
> And thanks to [Ruto](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com), there's even more of him :D


	3. Streams that never find the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the incident on the market, Bilbo is determined to stay in Bag End until the rumours have petered out. However, he hasn't counted a taciturn djinn (who takes his duty way too serious) in. So, instead of staying at home or going to Hobbiton ... how about a little trip beyond the borders of the Shire? And finally, he will learn something about Thorin's past ...

Bilbo sat in his favourite armchair and read a book. Or rather: He was _trying_ to read a book.  He almost pressed his nose against the pages, and yet he found it difficult to concentrate on letters, words, and sentences. Usually he loved browsing through his books and maps and should therefore have felt very comfortable in such a situation; he always did. But instead, he felt very uncomfortable.

He fought the urge to peek over his book and shoot a glance across the room at the source of his uneasiness. He didn’t have to look to know what he would see. Thorin would stand there like a guard on duty, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching his every movement and waiting for a wish to fulfil. He had done so ever since Bilbo had made himself comfortable in his armchair, and the hobbit got the impression that the djinn hadn’t even blinked for once.

Bilbo turned a page, and again he got the impression that Thorin’s attentive eyes didn’t miss a single detail. To top it all, his nose was twitching terribly, and he didn’t want to scratch it with those piercing eyes following.

“Is this really necessary?”, he asked and finally lowered his book. Thorin didn’t even raise an eyebrow at this sudden question. “You don’t have to watch me that closely. I won’t wish for something any minute, you see. And if I wanted to utter a wish: Bag End is not that vast that I would have to look for you endlessly. Actually, you would always stay within earshot.”

Truth be told, Bilbo was determined to use Thorin’s powers as little as possible, at least for a while. The disaster at the market place had shown him plainly how easily things could go wrong, and he wanted to wait until the rumours about Bag End’s tunnels overflowing with gold declined … or got at least less absurd. That would probably take some time, but he was perfectly happy to stay in his own smial, thank you very much.

If only Thorin could stop staring at him like that!

“So”, Bilbo made a gesture that enclosed the study with all its chairs and books, “why don’t you make yourself comfortable? Well, at least as comfortable as possible.” For him, well-being also included sitting on the bench in the garden, enjoying the sunshine on his face, and smoking a pipe. But Thorin couldn’t do that, of course. After all, passer-byes shouldn’t learn that there was a djinn living with Mister Baggins. This precaution made Bilbo feel somewhat secretive, but Thorin seemed to be okay with it. His former masters had obviously been wary as well. “Maybe you could … you could …” Bilbo didn’t know how dwarves spent their leisure time, and Thorin was a djinn at that – and just what, for goodness’ sake, did djinns do? “… read a book?”, he finished lamely.

“I was taught to read and write in my youth”, Thorin answered in his usual level voice, “but the letters and languages have probably changed since that.”

Bilbo blinked at him as he was reminded of his djinn’s great age. It wasn’t the first time, but he still found it hard to believe that Thorin might have seen decades. Sure, the features of his face looked rather chiselled, but wasn’t this typical for a dwarf? It wasn’t necessary that they were a sign of old age.

The lines around his eyes, though … They didn’t look as if they emerged from laughing. _I can’t even imagine what my djinn would look like if he was laughing … or how it would sound_. Bilbo’s throat felt strangely constricted. How sorrowful could Thorin’s life have been that he couldn’t even imagine him smiling? That something so natural like smiling seemed to be so far apart from him?

“Thorin”, he said, “how old are you exactly?”

Bilbo looked at the djinn, and Thorin met his gaze sternly. However, he stayed silent.

“How old are you exactly?”, Bilbo asked again, this time with more emphasis. He looked at the piercing blue eyes steadfastly.

Finally, the corner of Thorin’s mouth twitched, and after some more long moments, his lips parted to answer. It wasn’t the answer Bilbo had hoped for, though.

“My past”, the djinn said markedly calm, “is of no concern.”

Now that was too much. Bilbo got out of his chair with a frown, and as he spoke, he didn’t make the least effort to hide his anger. “I have enough of you guarding your words like a dragon his hoard. I’m not asking you such questions purely on a whim, or out of mere curiosity. We’re going to spend a lot of time together, maybe the rest of our lives, and I don’t want to spend all my life in awkward silence. I want to learn more about you, get to know you, so that one day we may have a normal talk – a normal talk, not me asking something and you being grumpy and taciturn! I’m done with your monosyllabic answers!” He inhaled sharply, the echo of his words still hanging in the air.

Bilbo had thought to see a spark flashing in Thorin’s eyes when he had begun his speech, but it had only lasted a heartbeat – if it had been real, not just a fancy –, and now his face was more like stone than ever, cold and withdrawn. His whole posture made it clear that he would only answer if Bilbo explicitly wished for them, and that was something the hobbit didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t use such means.

With a frustrated sigh, Bilbo fell back in his armchair. The silence lay upon them like an oppressing cloud, and Bilbo regretted his outburst. Well, almost. He had had to speak his mind – it couldn’t go on with them like that. He couldn’t live like that, his every move being watched by a stranger that a mere coincidence had thrown into his life. If they could at least get to know each other a bit better! The whole situation would definitely improve. It had deemed him so easy, but Thorin’s face told him that it wasn’t going to be easy at all.

He sighed once more and sank deeper into his chair. Suddenly his gaze fell upon his book. It had fallen to the ground when he had got up, and now it was open on another page. There was a name that leaped to Bilbo’s eye.

“West of the Shire”, he began, recollecting everything he had ever heard or read about this place, “west of the White Downs, to be precise, there are three tall towers. We hobbits call them the White Towers. And the westernmost and highest of these towers is Elostirion …” He licked his lips. He had always dreamed to see what was beyond the borders of the Shire. But he was a hobbit, a respectable Baggins, and running off into the blue was not an option for him. But with Thorin’s powers … “I wish we were inside this tower, at the highest floor.”

“As you wish, Master Baggins.” That was it. Nothing more was needed, and Bilbo suddenly found himself in a vast, round chamber of white stone. A door, its wood old with age, was bolted and barred; there was no way to enter the chamber without the help of magic. Maybe there was a reason for this. For in the middle of the room there was a pedestal on which rested a strange artefact. It looked like a globe of dark crystal, yet with a glowing core. Bilbo thought he could glimpse fiery abysses amidst the darkness.

However, he detected something far more fascinating, and his gaze was drawn away from the artefact. Opposite of him there was a window, and Bilbo was enchanted by the sight it offered. He approached it and craned his neck to see as much as possible.

Deep, deep beneath him green hills stretched into the distance. His eyes followed lush grass and tiny-looking trees and pathways, hardly more than a thin line to him, until the line of land met a blue mass. It still looked far away, but he was closer to it than he had ever been. He had always imagined it to be blue, simply blue, but he could perceive so many different shades. It was exhilarating.

“The sea”, Bilbo uttered beneath his breath. “I’ve never seen it before in all my life.” He put his arms on the window sill and rested his chin on them. He felt a comforting calm, the agitation from just minutes before was forgotten. “I’ve never seen anything but the Shire before. I only know the Shire … it’s my home”, he continued. Bilbo wasn’t exactly sure why he did this, but he kept on talking anyway. With the sea in front of him, he just felt like talking. “I nearly lost it. I would have been forced to leave my beloved home … if it hadn’t been for you.” Bilbo’s gaze was still focused on the shoreline; the sight made speaking easier.

Little time had passed since he had felt so desperate. Less than one week ago – only one week! – he had been afraid to leave the place that meant so much to him, that held so many dear memories, and now everything was changed. It had been a sudden, dizzying change, but here in this place, high above the ground and in sight of the sea, he didn’t feel overwhelmed or dizzy or afraid. He only felt gratitude.

“I owe you more than I can express in words, Thorin. I would have had to leave my home, the only place I belong to, if it weren’t for you … and the first wish you granted me. I would have been forced to sell Bag End without those coins. Without your help … I would be homeless.” Despite the calming sight in front of him, Bilbo’s throat felt constricted. He swallowed several times before he could speak again. “Thank you, Thorin.”

Bilbo’s eyes still lay upon the landscape, but he turned around in surprise as the djinn suddenly spoke.

“I have not seen the sea either”, he said with his calm voice. “I was born and raised in the mountains … in Erebor.”

The hobbit felt a shiver at this name, but he didn’t dare to speak right now. He was afraid that Thorin could stop at the slightest interruption, and he didn’t want that. He had dearly hoped that the djinn would open to him. He was thrilled that Thorin had begun to speak, and he listened with fascination despite the streak of horror the name of Erebor had awoken.

“Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of our fortress city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewed from rock, and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone. The skill of our craftsmen was unequalled, and they fashioned objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and sapphire. But the years of peace and plenty were not to last.”

Bilbo felt a chill at these words, and he regretted that he hadn’t taken a coat with him. The thought occurred to him that he could simply wish for one, but he put it aside at once. He wouldn’t interrupt Thorin because of such a frivolity. Besides, he got the feeling that no coat would be able to banish this kind of cold.

“The first we heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in a hot, dry wind.” Thorin swallowed. “It was a fire drake from the north. Smaug had come. Fire …”

The djinn broke off, and Bilbo pulled his waistcoat tightly around himself. Thorin didn’t have to say more; he could see it all too clearly in his imagination. A sky filled with fire and smoke, flames climbing high into the night; a mighty shadow upon the ground. He swallowed. Thick walls brought low without effort; the inhabitants of the mountain fortress helpless like children against such a foe. He wished he could take back his words from before – he had compared Thorin to a dragon hoarding its treasure, not knowing that he had been twisting the knife in the wound.

“I faced him.” Thorin’s voice was rough with suppressed horror. “He towered above me. Teeth like swords … claws like spears … his breath … death. And yet … He had other plans for me.” Thorin hesitated. His lips moved inaudibly while he was searching for words to continue, and his eyes were fixed on the stone floor.

Remembering his former masters that had ordered him to watch their doors at night and sent him out to get rid of their enemies, Bilbo wondered if the djinn had ever told his story to anybody. Could it be that there had never been anybody Thorin had talked to? That there had never been anybody who would have listened to him?

“A dragon”, Thorin ultimately went on, “has its own kind of magic. In some aspects, it is more powerful than a wizard. He used this magic … to curse me. He turned me into what I am now – a djinn, confined to a phial and bound to serve whoever opens it. The dragon thought it … amusing that I should become the least of all slaves.” He looked up, and Bilbo was shocked to see the expression in his eyes. There was no rage, no grief, no desperation. He only saw a dull acceptance of his fate.

“And I was a slave to many masters. I have seen high towers and deep dungeons, but I have never seen the sea …” And yet, Thorin didn’t move closer to the window. He just stood there as if he was waiting for the permission to take a look out. Or as if he didn’t care at all.

Bilbo’s head began to spin. “In all this time …?”, he croaked.

Thorin only gave him a puzzled look, and Bilbo realized that he should have stayed silent. This look told him that Thorin didn’t even know how much time had passed since the fall of Erebor. He didn’t want to tell him, oh no! On the other hand, though … Could he really deny Thorin the truth? It might be cruel to tell him, but it would also be cruel to withhold it from him, to treat him as if it was of no concern to him.

“I’ve heard of Erebor”, Bilbo began slowly. “People still write and tell legends about it. But … but …” It took him great effort to finally say: “Erebor fell in the late days of the First Age. And now … now is the Third Age.”

Silence fell over the chamber. Bilbo swallowed. Thousands of years. Thousands of years had passed since the days of Thorin’s youth. And all this time, nobody had ever told him.

“I have supposed something like that.” The dwarf sounded like someone who had already taken so many blows that he didn’t care about another one.

“But the dragon … it’s dead”, Bilbo hastily said, trying to offer the only scrap of comfort he had. And if he wasn’t mistaken, there was indeed a spark of interest in Thorin’s clouded eyes. “It … it withered away. It simply died, perhaps of old age.”

“And Erebor?” Thorin’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible. Bilbo hated to crush the ember of hope he heard in this voice.

“Nobody dares to enter Erebor.” His fingers intertwined nervously. “It’s said that the skeleton of the dragon is still somewhere in the depths of the mountain, spreading its stench, and …” He bit his lips; he had already said too much. Again. But Thorin looked at him almost pleadingly. Despite the cold he felt in his belly, he added: “They fear the dragon’s curse.”

“I see.” That was all Thorin said, and Bilbo fell silent as well.

He looked out of the window again. The green hills now deemed him bland, and the sea had lost its calming effect. He dared not to imagine how it must feel to be so … alone. Alone. That was the first thing that came into his mind when he thought about Thorin. He had been torn away from his family and friends, his home – even from the time he belonged into! It made him sad beyond description, and yet he felt so helpless. There was nothing he could say to offer comfort.

Slowly, the shadow of night spread across the land. Bilbo had a sudden vision of dragon’s wings covering the ground in the same way, and he shivered.

“Thorin”, he said as quietly as he could, “I wish we were back at Bag End.”

The djinn didn’t look into his face. He only nodded, and in the next moment the highest chamber in the tower of Elostirion was empty again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for all the angst in this chapter! I promise that the next one will get more cheerful - an unexpected visitor will knock at Bilbo's door ...  
> If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment. I'm always glad to hear your opinion :)


	4. Whiz-poppers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was always determined not to meddle in the affairs of wizards ... But what if a wizard decides to meddle in his affairs? But on the other hand: An invitation to a feast with drink, food, and fireworks can hardly be called meddling ... right?

“Calm down, I’m already on my way!”

The sharp knocks on the door didn’t stop despite Bilbo’s reassurance, and he was actually worried that his visitor might beat a hole into the door of Bag End. He opened it with a frown, ready to tell this rascal a thing or two about good manners. Not a single rebuke came over his lips, however, as Bilbo recognized his visitor. He would have been a fool to scold a wizard.

“Gandalf”, he remarked with no small degree of astonishment.

It would have been too much to say that he was a friend of Bilbo’s family. He had been an acquaintance of the Old Took and therefore of Belladonna, and he had sometimes paid her a visit after her marriage to Bungo, despite the horrified faces the Baggins-side of the family had made at the mere thought of a wizard – a wizard! – coming for tea like an average hobbit. But Gandalf’s visits had been scarce; Bilbo had been a child when he had come to Bag End the last time.

“Bilbo Baggins”, Gandalf greeted and bowed down to look into the hobbit’s face. Bilbo suddenly thought that it must be obvious that his hair was ruffled from a far-away wind, bearing the scent of wide plains of grass, and that the soil on the soles of his feet wasn’t from the Shire, but from the other side of the Misty Mountains, from Rohan.

The tower of Elostirion had only been one of many places Bilbo had longed to see ever since he had been a fauntling. He had no need for golden plates to eat from, for jewels to adorn himself with, and stuff like that. The box of silver coins Thorin had granted him was enough. It enabled him to stay at Bag End and to lead a life not of luxury, but of comfort, and that was all he needed.

But there were other things the hobbit was interested in – places, from history or legend, some closer, but most of them far away from the Shire, places a hobbit would never reach in his life. Bilbo had always wished to see such places, and Thorin fulfilled his wishes. Together they had been at the beaches of Harlindon, and the waters of the western sea had played around Bilbo’s ankles. They had dozed in the shadow of the trees of Greenwood the Great, listening to the chirping of birds unknown to Bilbo, and the field of Pelennor had stretched beneath their eyes as they had been standing on the white walls of Gondor.

And now he got the feeling that Gandalf knew of all these trips.

“I’m sorry you had to wait”, Bilbo blundered out, his face heating, “but I’ve been busy in one of the rooms in the back, you see.” Gandalf showed him a smile, but his eyes deemed Bilbo so doubtful! His hand already moved to cover his shirt pocket to protect Thorin from this gaze, but he managed to turn it into an inviting gesture instead.

“May I take your … eh … hat?” He took the staff the wizard held out to him and placed it against the wall; the grey hat he put on top of it. “Tea?”, he asked while ushering Gandalf into the parlour. “You’ve caught me a bit unprepared, I’m afraid … I’ve only got cold chicken, some cheese …”

As they moved through the study, Bilbo’s eyes fell on his desk, and he hurried to get Gandalf past it. It was covered with the sheets of paper he and Thorin used for their writing lessons. The djinn had proved himself to be a diligent student, quick to understand and always willing to learn more. Besides, he had a remarkably elegant handwriting. It was so different from what Bilbo had expected from a dwarf, not angular at all, but fluid and prettier than his own rather spidery stroke.

Bilbo did his best to teach him the history and culture of dwarves. He had the impression that Thorin, although eager for any knowledge, was most excited to hear about his own folk. But Bilbo’s knowledge on the subject was limited. He hoped to acquire some books, maybe from one of the travelling merchants that sometimes passed through the Shire. Dwarves, however, were known to be a secretive folk, so he didn’t dare to expect too much.

He noticed that he was still staring at the desk, seeing himself and Thorin bowing over some books, the tray with tea and biscuits next to them almost forgotten as they discussed the line of a poem. Hastily he turned to Gandalf and continued: “Er, I’ve also got raspberry jam and apple tart ... Or …”

“Just tea, thanks”, Gandalf interrupted him.

“Just tea”, Bilbo repeated with a weak smile and fled into the kitchen as soon as Gandalf sat in an armchair. He clattered around with the cups and the kettle – his mother would have pulled him by his ears for treating her crockery like this –, but he had to make sure Gandalf wouldn’t hear a single syllable.

“Thorin”, he hissed, and the djinn’s head popped out of his pocket. “I know you have to stay within earshot, but please be careful. I don’t wish to attract too much of Gandalf’s attention.”

“I am afraid it is impossible to deceive the eyes of a wizard, even for me”, Thorin remarked dryly.

“I think so too. So please … just be careful”, Bilbo repeated.

The djinn nodded. With that, he disappeared into the pocket again, and Bilbo was soon ready to return to Gandalf. The wizard received his cup of tea with a smile, and, after a first sip, remarked: “It’s good to see that you set an excellent example of the hospitality of hobbits.” Bilbo smiled politely, but his face froze when the wizard added: “Especially after all the bad luck you had recently, as I’ve heard.”

The hobbit swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t call it ‘bad luck’”, he answered in a strained voice.

Gandalf put his cup aside and bent forward to take his hand, squeezing it compassionately. “I’m sorry for your loss. I was very fond of Belladonna since she was a child, and Bungo was a very fine hobbit as well. I’m sorry that I haven’t been to the Shire to see them once more … or to offer you some words of consolation when you needed them.” He leaned back, and when he spoke again, there was a different note to his voice – one that made Bilbo remember that he was talking to a wizard, well-travelled, wise, and probably up to something.

“I’ve also heard”, Gandalf said slowly, “of your strange luck. Every hobbit in the Shire seems to know a tale or two about strange events, and you’re the focus of interest in all of them. They speak of the tunnels of Bag End overflowing with gold, and of its owner disappearing for days, almost as if he became … invisible.”

He eyed him, and Bilbo thought how nice it would be to be back in Rohan. Or anywhere else, basically. Gandalf obviously waited for him to react somehow, but the hobbit stayed silent. Therefore, his visitor continued: “I’ve heard of such things before. Could it be that you … found something? Something that is responsible for what others call sheer luck? You know, it can be something very simple, even unremarkable … A small figure, maybe, or a ring, or an object of daily use …”

“Yes”, Bilbo heard himself saying, “I’ve found something.” It had been his intention not to tell anybody about Thorin, and a part of him was horrified about what he had just said. But he _had_ to tell somebody – he had so many questions! Yes, Thorin had opened up to him, but that didn’t mean that he had changed completely. He had become somewhat softer, and Bilbo got the impression that the djinn enjoyed their trips, their writing lessons, and the evenings of reading in the parlour as much as he did. But he was still withdrawn and gave short answers, especially when it came to his powers. Moreover, Bilbo thought that there were probably questions not even Thorin could answer.

But Gandalf the Grey could answer Bilbo’s questions. Besides, it was obvious that the wizard worried about him. Bilbo could trust him.

“I wish you to show yourself”, he said.

“As you wish, Master Baggins.”

He was startled when he heard the djinn’s deep voice in his back – he had looked down into his pocket, waiting for Thorin to appear out of it. But he already stood in the door, and Bilbo thought that he made quite an impression. He had changed back to his full size, and the way his arms were crossed in front of his chest accentuated his muscles as well as his valuable jewellery. His gaze rested quietly on Gandalf, and there was something about him – a certain calmness, even dignity – that made him look like the prince of a faraway realm.

Bilbo interrupted the silence by coughing slightly. “Gandalf”, he said, “this is Thorin.” The wizard’s eyes lightened up at this name as if he had already heard it before. However, he only inclined his head and made no further remark. “You see”, Bilbo continued, “Thorin is a … a djinn. I found his bottle amidst my parent’s belongings, and when I opened it, I became his, ahem, master. Now he is bound to fulfil every wish I utter.” He scratched his cheek. “He has done much for me, and I’m very grateful. There was a little incident, however. I didn’t choose my words carefully enough, and now everyone from here to Bree seems to think that I hide gold beyond measure.”

He continued to tell how overwhelmed he sometimes felt, and how strange being the master of a djinn still was to him. All the while, Gandalf listened patiently, and he seemed relieved to hear Bilbo’s explanation. Perhaps he had been afraid that the hobbit’s strange luck could have been due to some dangerous item.

“Now that explains a lot”, he finally exclaimed and watched Thorin curiously. The djinn returned the look calmly.

“The name is Thorin, you said?”

There was something in the wizard’s voice that made Bilbo almost jump out of his chair. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Can’t say that”, Gandalf replied curtly, and the hobbit watched incredulously as he got up. “I can tell from your face that you’ve got a lot of questions, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than your djinn has already done. Be careful, and always make precise wishes to avoid unpleasant surprises.”

“But Gandalf!”, Bilbo stammered and followed him into the entrance hall. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve promised some fireworks for tonight”, he explained while taking his hat and staff, “and I’ve got to make some preparations. It will be quite a show, and I think you and your djinn will like it. I’ll see you at the party field!”

And with that, the wizard left a dazed hobbit and his djinn behind him.

“That didn’t sound like an invitation”, Bilbo remarked dryly after some moments of silence. “I guess he expects me to join the festivities.” He turned around to look at Thorin. “That is, he expects us.”

 

***

 

Wizards were quick to anger, and although Gandalf was a good-natured fellow, Bilbo didn’t want to take any risks. That was why he now stood at the party field and tried to hide himself behind a mug of ale. The announcement that Gandalf the Grey would show his famous fireworks had attracted every single inhabitant of Hobbiton, it seemed, and many hobbits from nearby dwellings as well. Given that the wizard had only arrived a few hours ago, the hobbits had surpassed themselves in arranging a feast: The great tree was adorned with colourful lampions, there were tables with food and drink, and their smells hang promisingly in the air.

But the attention of even the hungriest hobbit was drawn from the dishes as soon as Bilbo Baggins appeared amidst them. Of course they hadn’t forgotten the strange incident on the market – the second one with the gold, not his public breakdown in health, Bilbo thought sourly. Lately he had done enough strange things to cause tongues to wag for ninety-nine days. He could only hope that he managed through the evening without attracting any more attention.

But it was good to see that not everybody treated him as if he was an even greater curiosity than Gandalf. Bilbo felt better at once when Drogo gave him a friendly wave of the hand. He didn’t feel too much excluded anymore, although his friend only went by. In fact, it put a smile on Bilbo’s face: Drogo didn’t have much time for him because he was heading for Primula, and the flower bouquet to which he clung made it obvious that he was courting her. Finally! The two of them had been beating about the bush for far too long.

Finally, the attention was drawn from food, drink, and Bilbo to Gandalf. The wizard had appeared with some of his fireworks, and everybody was waiting for the moment they would rush into the sky. The hobbits tilted their heads back, eyes wide in anticipation of dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, and goblin-barkers.

Bilbo used their distraction to reach into his pocket, get Thorin out of it and put him onto the nearest table.

After Gandalf’s invitation, Bilbo had felt sorry for Thorin. It wasn’t fair that he should have to spend the whole evening listening to cheerful hobbits without being able to see even a spark of the spectacle.

“Thorin”, Bilbo had asked as an idea had occurred to him, “would you like to see the fireworks? And don’t tell me something like ‘As you wish’ or ‘What I would like is of no concern’. Please … Tell me what _you_ would like.”

Thorin had only watched him at first, but to his delight, the djinn had finally answered: “Yes. Yes, I would like to see the fireworks.” His voice had been quiet as always, but Bilbo had also detected a spark of warmth in it that had made him smile, and he had been determined to carry out his plan.

He had to admit that it was quite simple: As long as everybody was staring into the sky, distracted by the display of colours and figures, Thorin could roam about one of the tables, trying some of the dishes – mere crumbs would be sufficient, tiny as he was right now –, look into the sky and enjoy the evening just as everybody else did. Bilbo would stay close to the table, ready to get the djinn back into his pocket as soon as it was necessary.

Bilbo watched as Thorin made his way across the table. At first, the djinn was cautious and made sure to stay behind cups and bowls and plates. But soon he grew bolder, and it was charming to see him raising on tiptoes to reach for the crust of a pie. Bilbo reached for a piece himself and made sure to put some of the fruity filling within Thorin’s reach.

But the pastry was forgotten as the first of Gandalf’s rockets rushed into the night sky. The hissing and crackling was accompanied by many _Ahs_ and _Ohs_ , but Bilbo couldn’t tear his eyes away from Thorin. Despite being so tiny, he deemed him solemn and noble. His face was earnest, but the colourful lights of the fireworks were reflected in his eyes and seemed to reveal something about him that was almost vulnerable.

Bilbo smiled softly to himself. It had been a good idea to let him walk around … at least until he discovered the weak point of his plan: Not everybody was distracted by Gandalf’s show.

The smile on his face disappeared immediately when he heard a high voice shouting: “Hey, look! What’s that?” He watched in horror as a bunch of children ran towards the table, and before he could do anything, a boy had already grabbed Thorin. Bilbo cursed beneath his breath. Of all children of Hobbiton, it had to be Hugo Bracegirdle who wasn’t distracted by Gandalf’s art – the boy who was known for putting his hands on things that were not his. And amongst his friends was Adelard Took who had a similar talent.

“What a strange doll!”, Hugo exclaimed and eyed Thorin closely. He did so only for a few moments before turning around and moving further on, with what he supposed to be a toy in his hands. His friends followed, and so did Bilbo. His mind was racing as he tried to think of a way to get Thorin back. But it was so grotesque – he was basically planning to steal a doll from children! How low had he gotten?

“How strange it looks!”, Hugo commented once more and turned and twisted the djinn with so much energy that Bilbo was already worried. How lucky that Thorin was so witty to play along and kept as rigid as any doll would. “It seems so real.”

“It does”, Adelard agreed. “But is that a beard?”

“It looks ugly”, one of the girls said, and Bilbo felt very cross about her remark. It was his djinn they were talking about, after all! He was only exotic and thus not what most hobbits would consider beautiful. The features of his faces weren’t round, but chiselled, and the form of his body wasn’t soft either, but strong like a warrior’s, and although many hobbits had blue eyes, Thorin’s were deeper and darker. But he was very handsome nonetheless and –

Bilbo almost stumbled at his ridiculous thoughts. _Concentrate, Bilbo_ , he reminded himself, _concentrate!_

“Then you don’t have to play with it, Angelica”, Hugo laughed and ran ahead. The other children speeded up to catch him, and Bilbo tried to follow them unobtrusively while the display of colours in the sky continued.

His first impulse had been to simply wish for Thorin to be in his shirt pocket again, but he couldn’t do that. The children would notice if he uttered anything, of course, and they would definitely make a noise if their doll suddenly disappeared into thin air. For now, he could do nothing else than make sure he wouldn’t lose sight of them. After all, Thorin had repeatedly pointed out that he had to stay close to Bilbo, and the hobbit had no clue what would happen if they were separated. They always stayed close, and Thorin had the bedroom right next to Bilbo’s so he could stay within earshot. He hoped that Thorin would not get hurt if they should be separated.

Bilbo followed the children across the party field, and finally he was lucky: Hugo and his friends approached Gandalf. The wizard was about to prepare one of his rockets, but he looked up as the children came towards him. It didn’t take him long to realize what was going on, and he gave Bilbo a look that was clearly saying _fool of half a Took._

As Gandalf turned towards the children, though, a bright smile was on his face. He didn’t say a single word, but indicated them to come closer. The children did so, and the wizard showed them his hands. They were clasped together, and Hugo and his friends watched them curiously, excited for the secret Gandalf was about to reveal. They shrieked with joy as he opened his hands, and sparkling butterflies flew from them. Soon they were surrounded by tiny insects in all colours of the rainbow, some of them heading up into the sky, but most of them flying around the children and creating a colourful veil. Other children as well as adults were drawn to the spectacle, and soon a whole bunch of hobbits was jumping around the wizard, laughing and trying to catch one of the butterflies.

Bilbo watched aghast as Hugo raised his arms to reach for the magical butterflies above his head – and let go of Thorin. Hugo was only a child, and a small one even to hobbit standards, but the distance to the ground would prove fatal for the tiny djinn.

Fortunately, Gandalf was quick-witted as ever: He made a gesture with his hand. Another shimmering butterfly escaped into the night, and at the same time, Thorin’s fall slowed down, and he floated in the air like a leaf in the breeze. He moved away from the magical insects, and Bilbo had enough time to dart forward and catch him.

He glimpsed down onto his palms. With great relief he noticed that Thorin wasn’t hurt. Only his face was somewhat reddened; Hugo had tried to wipe the strange beard away from the doll’s face. Bilbo gave Gandalf a look of deep gratitude. The wizard shook his head slightly as if he was about to tell him a thing or two about precaution, but there was also a smile on his lips.

“That’s enough trouble for one day”, Bilbo mumbled and let Thorin climb into his pocket again. He turned on his heels and pushed his way through the mass of eating, drinking, and celebrating hobbits. Nobody took much notice of him as Gandalf continued to show his art, and Bilbo was grateful for the distraction.

He didn’t stop before he reached the garden door of Bag End nonetheless. He let himself fall onto the bench with a deep sigh. “Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards”, he quoted a proverb that was often used by his relatives, mostly the Bagginses. “But what if a wizard is determined to meddle in my affairs?”

He shook his head. Then he reached into his pocket to get Thorin out of it. “You’re not hurt, are you?”, he asked.

“I am not hurt, Master Baggins.”

“That’s good to hear.” Bilbo looked into the night sky. It was dark except for the faraway stars, and he wondered if Gandalf had already finished his show or if he was just pausing before a spectacular finish. “You see, I’d like to say ‘Right now everyone’s at the party field, so enjoy yourself and sit next to me’. But after that incident, I don’t dare to do so. For a moment I was really afraid that the children would run away with you. I thought …” He broke off, not sure how to continue.

“I understand.” The softness in Thorin’s voice surprised him, but Bilbo didn’t reply anything as Gandalf’s fireworks continued. He only raised his hand so that Thorin could climb onto his shoulder, and they watched in silence.

It was a spectacular finish indeed, and Bilbo liked to think that Gandalf had waited with it until he was sure that he and Thorin were back at Bag End and would watch it together.

 

***

 

Gandalf had left the Shire three weeks ago, and slowly the talk of the hobbits about how superb his firework – as well as the food and the drink at that event – had been ceased. But before they could return to the stories about hidden riches in Bag End, another group of unexpected visitors arrived. It was a group of travelling merchants, and they provided them with enough tittle-tattle to last for the next months.

Gossip alone wouldn’t have lured Bilbo out of his comfortable home. He didn’t share the interest of his fellow hobbits for who in Bree had grown the greatest pumpkin this year. He wanted to know more of the real world, of countries far away and of more importance than Bree. But no other hobbit ever asked such questions, and most of the travelling merchants had only looked at him in amazement if he had dared to ask what they could tell him of other countries. Eventually he had stopped asking, and had buried his nose in his books instead.

But today he had to go and see the merchants for they were dwarves.

Bilbo’s heart beat faster with excitement as he approached their cart at the market place. Only a few other hobbits had gathered around it. Dwarves were considered strange folk, taciturn and secretive, and most hobbits preferred to talk as little as possible to them.

One of the merchants, however, didn’t make a taciturn and secretive impression at all. He stood on the cart amidst the goods, and his funny-looking moustache almost vibrated as he tried to convince the hobbits of their quality.

“Kettles, ladles, knives, and everything you could wish for in your kitchen! Dwarf-made and guaranteed to last for a lifetime!” He jumped from the cart, and his hat – it looked even funnier than his moustache – bobbed at the movement. “Or maybe something for the children? My cousin Bifur makes great toys, the best you will find on this side of the Misty Mountains!” He made a sweeping gesture to another dwarf who stood quietly beside their ponies and fed them, completely unimpressed by his cousin’s show.

When the dwarf noticed Bilbo, he bowed down sweepingly. “Bofur, at your service!”, he introduced himself, but he left no time to reply. “A mechanical toy for you, perhaps? Or probably not … You look like you’re searching for something more … sophisticated.”

“Books”, Bilbo blundered out as soon as he saw his chance. His cheeks turned red at how impolite he was, but he got the feeling that Bofur could talk on and on like this. He coughed slightly. “Do you have any books for sale?”

“Of course!”, Bofur answered with a big grin, not in the least offended that Bilbo had interrupted him. “Come on, come on, take a look!”

It was only a small crate of books the dwarves had on their cart, but Bilbo’s face lightened up as he browsed through them. Thorin would definitely like the collection of songs and poems – he pretended to dislike the ones that were made up by elves, but by now Bilbo knew him well enough to notice the enthusiasm in his eyes whenever they read poetry. He would also enjoy the volume of legends. Bilbo thought that some of them sounded rather fairytale-like, but also very enjoyable; it would be fun to read them out aloud to each other.

His gaze fell on the spine of a thin volume, and his eyes widened as he recognized the symbol on it as a dwarvish rune. He carefully took the book – it seemed old – and browsed through it. It contained descriptions of a journey through the Blue Mountains, but it was obvious that the writer had been a dwarf: He focussed on the quality of the stone, on the gems and ores that were mined there, and Bilbo noticed some names that sounded dwarvish to his ears. Longbeards and Broadbeams, Thráin and Durin, Khazâd-dûm and Gabilgathol …

“Oh”, Bofur commented as he looked over Bilbo’s shoulder, “you’re interested in travel accounts? I think we should have some more of that … Didn’t know that hobbits were fond of travelling at all.” To Bilbo’s delight, he rummaged about the cart and handed him more similar volumes over.

“I’ll take them all”, he declared happily. But then, he took a look around the cart. There were still some hobbits around, so he lowered his voice. “Do you sell, er … boots as well?”

“Boots!”, Bofur exclaimed so loud that Bilbo gave a start. Even the quiet Bifur eyed him curiously now. “By my beard, I didn’t expect to ever sell boots to a hobbit!” He grinned and clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. “You know they’re too small for your feet, laddie?”

Bilbo blushed heavily, and he needed a moment to gather himself and tell the story he had come up with before: “I don’t want to wear them. I just need them for … reference.” He almost shrunk at the amused looks the dwarves gave him. “I’m afraid the next winter will be hard. An … an uncle of mine, you see, uses to read portents. The flight of the birds, how leaves fall, and stuff like that. It will be a long winter with heavy snowfalls, and I want to be prepared. But nobody in the Shire knows how to make boots. I have to make them on my own, so that’s why I need a pair. For reference.” He stopped, and he felt like a fool.

However, Bofur broke into laughter. “Portents!”, he exclaimed. “I know some fellow who would really delight in you, laddie. But we also sell boots, yes. I’ll fetch them for you. Boots for a hobbit!”, he snickered once more before going to the other side of the cart.

Bilbo followed him, shaking his head. He should have simply wished for them.

But that wouldn’t be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a hug to Angelsallfire - Thorin doesn't have the boots yet, but they are here :)
> 
> The children's names are from the Lord of the Rings, by the way - Adelard Took gets an umbrella from Bilbo because he has the habbit of taking umbrellas that are not his, Hugo Bracegirdle uses to borrow books without returning them (why Bilbo gives him a book-case), and Angelica Baggins receives a convex mirror because she considers her face shapely. Have I ever mentioned how much I love Bilbo?!
> 
> And thank-you so much[Ruto](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/post/165521288529/his-first-touch-charmed-a-sweet-sound-from-the)! Tiny Thorin peeking out of Bilbo's pocket is just adorable ^-^


	5. Plant your trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next wish brings Bilbo and Thorin to Erebor. The once glorious kingdom lies in decay, but Bilbo is definitely not the hobbit to simply accept something as irretrievably - even if it's the smile of a stubborn, withdrawn djinn ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all of your for your lovely comments, they mean so much to me! Especially since I'm celebrating some kind of anniversary today - one year ago, I posted my first Bagginshield fic, [Ray of Sunshine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6295150) here! But that's enough shameless self promotion :P All I want to say is: It was a great year, and let's hope for another creative one ... and I hope you stay tuned!! :)

Late summer showed itself at its best. The hobbits spent most of their time outdoors, sitting in their gardens or lying in the soft grass, enjoying the sun as well as the ripe fruits. The children went to the little streams to cool their feet and to spatter each other with water, and the most daring of them – mostly Tooks – even plunged into it. The nights were still mild and clear, and many hobbits stayed up late for a picnic under the stars.

Bilbo, however, often found himself looking at the beautiful landscape without really seeing it. Instead, his mind was drawn to grey mountains with peaks that were covered in snow even in summer, and to vast halls built deep within those mountains, now dark, but once full of life and laughter. At first he thought it was a mere whim that would pass quickly. But days turned into weeks, and he still found himself wondering about a place that was so far away from the Shire … that seemed to belong to another world, another age.

Therefore he decided to gather all his courage and to speak with Thorin.

The djinn sat in the study and was absorbed in one of the books Bilbo had bought from the travelling merchants … again. They had become his favourite read, and although the descriptions were rather wordy for Bilbo’s taste, they spent many evenings reading them to one another. Thorin was obviously happy to learn something about his own folk, the places they used to live, and their view of the world. He always spotted a new detail that woke his interest and that he would discuss with Bilbo afterwards. His delight in the texts was endearing … and it was also one of the reasons why Bilbo was about to ask _that_ question.

“Thorin, would you like to see Erebor again?”

The djinn’s eyes widened, and he let the book sink into his lap. He looked at Bilbo, but made no answer, and the hobbit began to feel uncomfortable. Had he been too direct, or gone too far? Thorin probably considered him curious or impolite. After all, he had asked him something very personal, and it was clear that thinking of his past hurt the djinn.

The silence lengthened, and by now the hobbit was sure that his djinn was very cross about such a rude question. He was wondering how he could get out of this situation when Thorin finally spoke.

“Thousands of years …” Thorin didn’t look into Bilbo’s face, but stared blankly into the distance. His voice was almost inaudible, as if he was talking to himself. “More than just one eternity, and I have not been close to my home …” Thorin lifted his head, and it was painful to see the conflicting emotions in his eyes. He was clearly longing to see his home once more, but there was also fear of what would await him there.

But then he nodded. It was a tiny gesture, full of hesitation, and his voice was husky. “Yes. I would like to see Erebor.”

“O-okay.” Bilbo opened and closed his mouth several times – it suddenly felt very dry – before finally uttering a wish. “I wish we were in Erebor.”

The djinn swallowed. “As you wish, Master Baggins.”

In the next moment, the familiar surroundings of Bag End disappeared, and Bilbo was sure that something had gone terribly wrong. He was surrounded by darkness – not the darkness of a clouded winter night, not even that of a cavern. It was a complete darkness that fell upon him like a heavy weight, threatening to suffocate him. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t hear anything, but he felt something: a coldness, as overwhelming as the darkness. His breath quickened, but the sounds were swallowed by the blackness.

He gave a start as something brushed his hands, something that was oddly out of place: warm fingers that closed around his. Thorin.

“I can see enough”, he said. His voice seemed to come from far away although he stood right next to him. He felt better at once and was glad for the support and the warmth Thorin’s hands offered. “I can guide you until we see some light.”

“Y-yes please”, Bilbo muttered, and Thorin began to move. He did so at a slow pace so Bilbo could follow him without too much trouble. He seemed to know his way despite the darkness. The hobbit wondered if this was one of his abilities as a djinn, or if all dwarves could find their way in the dark like the cats of queen Berúthiel. Bilbo wasn’t that sure-footed, though. He clang to Thorin’s hand, taking one cautious step after the other while fearing that the darkness would never end. But when it finally did, it was no relief. Instead, his throat felt constricted at the sight. A spear of light cut through the dark, although it could hardly be called light. It was of an oozy, sickly green. Bilbo looked up and noticed a crack in the ceiling. His horror of this place grew as he realized that it hadn’t been created artificially – it was a mark the dragon had left.

There were other traces of the inferno Smaug had brought upon Erebor. Now that Bilbo could see his surroundings more clearly, he noticed that the corridor they were passing through was scattered with boulders that still bore the traces of claws and fire. Not even the dust motes could escape the blanket of decay that lay upon Erebor, but sank to the ground again. He didn’t let go of Thorin’s hand.

The signs of ruin accompanied them until a staircase appeared in front of them. Parts of it had been simply torn away making it very narrow in some places. No handrails were left, and Bilbo swallowed as he set a foot onto the first step. He was determined not to look into the darkness on both sides of the staircase. He had to concentrate on his feet, and on Thorin’s hand that guided him. Nothing more. Just one foot in front of the other. Slowly –

He knew that he had made a mistake before he even felt the loose pebbles beneath his foot. The next moment he slipped, and his body swayed dangerously towards the abyss. He would fall. He felt strangely calm despite this realization. Hard, cold stone and darkness …

A jolt ripped through him, and suddenly there was warmth – strong hands around him, warm skin, a steady heartbeat beneath his palms. Thorin. Thorin had saved him. He had prevented him from the fall.

The fall.

Bilbo’s calm was gone all of a sudden. His heart beat like mad, and he trembled as he finally conceived what had nearly happened. He had almost disappeared in the darkness. He took several shaky breaths. “I”, he began, but he couldn’t continue.

Thorin didn’t urge him, but still held him close. Bilbo leant against his chest and listened to the soothing beat of Thorin’s heart. He seemed so steadfast, as if nothing could ever force him to his knees. Not the cold of this place, not its darkness, not the fact that he was here, in what used to be his home many and many centuries ago, before he had been forced to serve others as a djinn.

“Why did you do this?”, Bilbo mumbled against Thorin’s chest. “If you hadn’t saved me … if I would have disappeared in the darkness … you could have returned inside your phial. You would be left alone instead of having to serve me …”

Thorin was silent for a moment. “Maybe”, he answered softly, “because you are different.”

Such a simple statement, and yet it seemed to change so much. Bilbo didn’t know how to react. He had been aware of Thorin’s presence before, but now it was even stronger: the lulling sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the slight pressure of his hands on his back. He wanted to stay like this, but at the same time he was afraid of doing so. He tensed involuntary, and both to his disappointment as well as to his relief Thorin took this as a sign to move back. As they continued their way, though, their hands were still intertwined.

The staircase led to another corridor, but it soon opened into a vast hall. It was still dark, but not as oppressing as before. However, Bilbo’s relief did only last until he noticed the horrible stench. Quickly he covered his nose with his spare hand.

“The dragon”, Thorin explained grimly. “This hall used to be the treasury. I suppose he spent most of his time here.”

Bilbo looked around, but he saw nothing that reminded him of a treasury. No coins, no jewels, not the smallest trinket.

The djinn noticed his gaze. “He was not yet fully grown when he attacked. He probably moved the treasures to a greater hall. But it is dragon-gold. Wherever it is, let it rot there. It is cursed.”

A greater hall … But this was already so great that Bilbo couldn’t make out the opposite walls! To think that Smaug had become too big to fit into it … He had to remind himself that the dragon was dead.

But the further they moved, the heavier and colder Bilbo’s heart got. He remembered the legends he heard of this place, and how Thorin had spoken of beautiful chambers of green marble with golden seams running through the stone, markets full of life, and halls enlightened by colourful lamps. The sight was oppressing, and he wished that the djinn would still hold his hand. But there was light now, coming in thin beams through the ceiling, and they walked separately and in silence.

After more corridors and chambers and staircases they reached a hall that was by far greater than all the others before; it extended over several floors. The wall opposite of them consisted mainly of windows, and although the glass was greasy, enough light found its way inside, and Bilbo’s breath was taken away. Yes, there was decay, but it couldn’t diminish the majesty of the hall. Finally he could see the marvellous green and gold of Erebor – the ceiling was no smooth surface, but roughly hewn out of the rock. A massive column of marble sprang from it and pointed down to a central stage, obviously the heart of the kingdom. Staircases and pathways from other doors all around the hall ran towards it, and Thorin was already on his way.

Bilbo followed him as quickly as he dared – there were no railings, and the ground was hidden in darkness. Thorin moved as if in trance, not even glimpsing at the giant statues of dwarven warriors that lined their way. He headed directly for the platform … the throne of Erebor, Bilbo realized as they got closer. It was situated beneath the marble column, thus creating the impression that the mountain itself pointed down at the seat of the king.

Thorin stopped in front of it. He had been silent since the treasury, so Bilbo was startled when he suddenly spoke.

“I remember my grandfather sitting here.”

Bilbo blinked. He was sure he had misunderstood Thorin. After all, the seat in front of them was clearly a throne. And now he talked about his grandfather – his grandfather sitting exactly on that spot. That was impossible. It would mean that – that –

“Thorin”, he whispered, “you are a prince?”

He didn’t answer, and his silence conveyed more than words could ever do. Suddenly Bilbo remembered how often he had thought of the dwarf’s features as regal, and how often he had thought him to behave almost kingly. _Almost_ kingly. He swallowed as he realized the meaning of this tiny word. A prince, deprived of his birth right, brought low for such a long time and being treated like a slave for thousands of years …

He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of a single word. There was no right word. He couldn’t even say that he felt sorry for Thorin. Oh, he felt sorry, so much that his heart ached, and yet he knew that everything would sound hollow, to his ears as well as to Thorin’s. There were no words that could offer him compassion, not to mention comfort. What comfort could there be for the prince of a lost kingdom?

Everything he could do was wait. Bilbo stood silently and watched Thorin. His face was grave as he stared blankly at the throne, his eyes remembering things from thousands of years ago. He stood motionless for a long time, as if he had become one of the giant statues that looked silently down upon their prince who had returned to his decayed kingdom.

When Thorin started to wander aimlessly around, Bilbo followed him. He didn’t want to push him, but he wasn’t willing to leave him alone either. Thorin, however, stayed in the throne hall, often pausing and looking back to the king’s seat.

Time passed, and Bilbo began to shiver as the light finally faded. “Thorin?”, he asked cautiously. Although the djinn didn’t show any sign that he had heard him, he continued: “Night is falling. I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here after dark. Maybe we should return home?” He bit his lips after uttering the last word. Bag End was his home, not Thorin’s. Thorin’s home … it was lost.

Thorin nodded without looking at him, and Bilbo took it as a request to make his wish.

Only moments later, the halls of Erebor were once again desolate.

 

***

 

Over the next few days, autumn made its way into the Shire. The first leaves began to change their colours, the grain fields shone in tempting gold, and the sun was still bright enough to warm a hobbit’s face. The days were perfect for fishing, walking, or simply sitting in the soft grass.

The days inside of Bag End, however, passed in coldness and silence.

After their visit to Erebor, Bilbo had tried to engage Thorin in conversation to allay his grief at least a bit. But the djinn was lost in his own gloomy thoughts and barely reacted to anything. Even their evening readings ceased, and Bilbo sighed at the prospect of spending yet more hours in the study alone. Thorin was within ear shot as always, but stayed in one of the adjoining rooms. He was sealing himself off from Bilbo – something that the hobbit wanted to avoid by all means. They had finally managed to get along well; he even thought that they had become friends. But he couldn’t get through to the djinn, and his efforts stopped as he ran dry of ideas.

That didn’t mean he stopped thinking about a way to console his djinn, though. Bilbo was restless, and what he had learned in Erebor still occupied him.  He kept thinking about dark corridors and silent halls, and the image of Thorin standing in front of the green marble throne was vivid in his memory.

The solution came to him utterly unexpected. The one moment of another lovely autumn morning he was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing the cup of tea of his breakfast – Thorin wasn’t with him, he had been hardly eating for days –, and the next moment, he was on his feet, his heart racing with the sudden impact of an idea.

He stormed out of the kitchen and rushed past Thorin into the garden. The djinn followed him silently as was his duty. But Bilbo stayed in the garden only briefly before returning inside and heading for different storerooms, gathering some tools that could be useful in a bag.

“Thorin”, he finally turned to see the djinn right behind him, “I wish we were in Erebor.”

When the djinn’s eyes widened, Bilbo realized that he had never talked to him in such a voice – it had sounded like a command. Furthermore, it was obvious that their visit to Erebor had devastated his djinn, and now he even wished to return there without sparing a single thought for Thorin. He bit his lower lip, but it was too late: He could watch how Thorin’s already clouded eyes darkened even more.

“As you wish, Master Baggins”, the djinn replied in a flat voice, and only moments later, they were surrounded by the same darkness as last time: complete, suffocating, overwhelming. Bilbo’s hand reached for Thorin’s of its own accord. This time, however, it felt colder, its touch less welcoming, as if he was only tolerating their closeness for practical reasons. And indeed: As soon as there was enough light for them to see their surroundings, his hand slipped from Bilbo’s.

The hobbit swallowed. He was afraid that his wish had hurt Thorin, and that this would mar their relationship. He was still angry with himself for uttering the wish in such a way – how could he have been that commanding? In his eagerness to carry out his plan, he hadn’t thought about how he must have sounded to Thorin – authoritative, not tolerating any dissent, and not wasting a thought on the djinn’s feelings … like all the masters before him. But Bilbo didn’t want to be like them, and Thorin’s words from their last visit to Erebor echoed in his memory.

_Maybe because you are different._

He couldn’t tell the djinn his reason to return to Erebor, not yet. His plan might go wrong, and he didn’t want to raise Thorin’s hopes just to deceive them.

They reached the throne hall again, and Bilbo examined the hall closely. Light was shining through the greasy windows, but light alone wasn’t enough. “Do you know”, he began, almost stumbling about the words – after all, they had been silent since their arrival – “if there are any rooms closer to the mountainside? Rooms with balconies, lookouts, or something similar?”

Thorin didn’t even nod, but immediately led on to a staircase. His face was a blank mask, but Bilbo could see the emotions in his eyes. Grief, disappointment, surrender. He wouldn’t have been able to detect them when he and Thorin had first met, but by now he found it easier to read the djinn’s feelings. He was good at hiding them … but not good enough for someone who really looked at him.

As they went upstairs, the hobbit was delighted to feel a soft breeze on his face. It wasn’t strong, but a welcome change, and it raised his hopes. They still had a long way to go, though, and Thorin led him through several corridors until they reached a number of connected chambers, probably a former living area. The wind was stronger here, and now Bilbo could see the reason for it: There was an enormous crack running from the ceiling across the whole outer wall, leaving in light and fresh air. The once mosaicked floor was covered with rubble and dust, but Bilbo’s heart jumped in his chest as he saw that there was also life: In countless years, mosses, vines, and other resilient plants – their seeds probably brought here by the wind – had begun to grow. They found purchase on the unlikeliest places, even on the cracks the dragon had left. Bilbo knelt down in the midst of the chamber to have a closer look.

There was a hollow that had just the perfect size, and he quickly reached inside his bag to collect a smaller pouch. He put its content into the hollow and ran his fingers over it. He had also brought some garden tools with him, but it felt right to work with his own hands. After all, this was soil from his own garden.

 “Thorin, come a step closer!” He looked over his shoulder, beaming at the djinn. His voice was shaking with excitement, and he could hardly wait until Thorin was kneeling down at his side, casting a wary gaze at the small mound of earth.

Bilbo reached inside his pocket. His hand closed around the precious object, but he didn’t show it to the djinn at once. Instead, he enjoyed to see curiosity spreading over Thorin’s face, and he only opened his palm slowly.

On his hand there was an acorn.

Thorin looked at it for long moments before raising his eyes to Bilbo. He frowned, and Bilbo couldn’t help giggling. The djinn probably thought he had gone mad. He felt so giddy, maybe he had gone mad indeed.

“I picked it up in my garden”, he explained. “And I thought we could plant it here. It should work. Here it will have light, air, and rain, and there’s the soil from my garden … It _will_ work.” He was so excited that he kept babbling despite the utter confusion on Thorin’s face. “It’s sad that Erebor’s halls are still desolate. It would be so lovely to see them full of life … But I know that this is just a dream. Nobody wants to come here although the dragon has been long dead. But it’s still present; its smell is in the air, and the fear of the dragon is still alive. And I, I’m just a small hobbit, and I can’t change that. But I want to do something. And then I had the idea … to plant a tree.” He prepared a little hole in the soil and carefully placed the acorn in it. He didn’t cover it yet, but his hand hovered over it as if he was trying to cast a spell of protection on it. “It’s not much, I know, but one day it will grow, and … it will be there. It will simply be here. Oaks are very resilient, and – ”

Bilbo broke off as Thorin’s hands suddenly covered his. He tore his gaze away from the bigger, broader hand on his and looked up to see the most beautiful smile. It was warm and heartfelt, and it made Thorin’s blue eyes sparkle and his whole face bloom. In this moment he looked as happy and unburdened as if his past had only been a bad dream. Bilbo felt a sweet warmth as he looked at this smile, and he returned it with all his heart.

But then, a hint of sorrow clouded Thorin’s face again. “These chambers”, he said quietly, “belonged to my family.”

Bilbo covered Thorin’s hand with both of his and gently pressed it onto the soil. “Then it’s a good place to plant the acorn.”

Together, they covered the tiny acorn with soil from Bilbo’s garden. The hobbit was amazed to see how cautious Thorin’s movements were. After all, the dwarf was broad-shouldered and sturdy, almost bulky, and he had noticed the calluses on his palms when they had walked through Erebor hand in hand. But now he tended the acorn so gently while his lips were curled into a soft smile and his blue eyes gleamed fondly.

Bilbo watched him, smiling as well. There was a magic about Thorin, he realized, that had nothing to do with djinns or wishes at all.


	6. A kingly gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo would rather prefer to spend his birthday in a quiet way, but instead he invites some friends and relatives to dinner, just like any respectable hobbit would do. Although it's not the custom amongst hobbits, he is about to receive lots of gifts, mainly in the form of good advice. But there might be one unexpected gift he really appreciates ...

It was not even midday, but Bilbo felt exhausted as if he had worked three days in a row. He had been in his kitchen since the early morning, peeling fruits and cutting vegetables and kneading doughs while having a careful eye over bubbling pots and sizzling pans, and the afternoon wouldn’t be much different.

If someone had asked him, he would have preferred a quiet day in his garden or the study, followed by a nice evening with some good food – only some, mind you, not the loads he was preparing – and a glass of wine. It was his birthday, after all, and it would only be fair if he could do whatever he liked.

But sometimes fairness wasn’t the same as hobbit etiquette. Instead of spending the day like a hermit he was expected to invite at least some relatives and friends for dinner. That was what respectable hobbits did, and that in turn meant peeling and cutting and kneading.

All the while Thorin kept his company. He sat at the kitchen table, a book in front of him to occupy him while Bilbo was busily measuring ingredients or arranging delicate slices of fruit and only talked to him absent-mindedly or not at all. But now the book was closed, and the djinn’s gaze followed Bilbo jumping from one pot to another.

When the hobbit paused for a moment to wipe his hands on a dishtowel, he asked: “Why do you not wish for a feast?”

Bilbo almost dropped the towel. “Impossible!”, he exclaimed. The djinn looked at him, clearly amused to receive such a shocked answer. “That wouldn’t do”, Bilbo explained. “Not at all! Preparing a meal for guests has to take its time. I’m cooking for my family and friends, and thus I show that I care for them. It’s like giving them a gift, you see? Cooking hastily or serving them something ready-cooked would mean that I don’t care about them at all, and that would be an insult!”

“I understand this thought. You put time and your heart into the dishes because they are for your friends.” Thorin nodded. “But can I help you nonetheless? Without magic, of course.” A smirk appeared on his face. “Or has cooking together a special meaning to hobbits as well?”

He sounded as if he was just joking – which was rare enough for the djinn –, but Bilbo found himself opening his mouth and closing it again without uttering anything. “I, ahem … Yes, please. I’d appreciate your, ahem, help”, he finally managed to say while pointing with the ladle at a pile of ingredients for a pie. “And it can mean a lot. Cooking together, I mean. There are a lot of different meanings, depending on … on many details.”

He didn’t go into said details, and Thorin seemed to be content with his answer. Instead of pursuing the topic he started to combine the blueberries with cream and honey as Bilbo told him. The hobbit’s attention returned to the bubbling stew, but his eyes soon wandered back to Thorin.

It was not like their cooking together could mean … something like _that_. After all, they weren’t offering each other food to try, or eating from the same plate afterwards.

But as if he had been aware of the hobbit’s thoughts, Thorin turned to him, holding a spoon with blueberries out to him. “Sweet enough?”, he asked.

For long, long moments, Bilbo could only stare at the spoon. Trust, closeness, tenderness. Accepting food that somebody offered in such way meant trusting him that it would be good – maybe a bit too salty or somewhat tasteless, but definitely eatable. Offering another hobbit some stodge was like an insult. To accept the food, you had to get very close to the other, and you also had to trust him that he was tender enough to feed you, and you wouldn’t get a spoon – or worse: a fork or knife – into the eye.

Trust, closeness, tenderness. The words kept repeating themselves in Bilbo’s head until he realized that Thorin looked at him, probably wondering if he had said something wrong. But he didn’t know what offering food like this meant – of course not, he wasn’t a hobbit. Bilbo should explain it to him to avoid further misunderstandings. That would be right.

The only problem was: Bilbo wasn’t about to do what would be right. Instead, he leaned forward, parted his lips and waited for Thorin to act … to show that he knew how to be tender, that he could trust him. And the djinn was tender; he fed Bilbo carefully. The blueberries were neither too sour nor too sweet, but simply delicious. And about the closeness … Bilbo didn’t dare thinking about how close they were right now. The djinn’s hand wavered right next to his cheek, and he thought to feel warmth radiating from it. Everything felt right – and yet it wasn’t right.

Bilbo withdrew quickly, but tried to show Thorin an easy smile. “Very good”, he said, and if his voice was a bit croaky – well, maybe the djinn wouldn’t notice. And maybe he wouldn’t notice that Bilbo put too much force into stirring the stew as well.

He shouldn’t have done that. After all, their relationship was complicated enough; it had been from the moment they had met. But Bilbo had changed since that moment when he had opened the bottle – and so had Thorin.

It wasn’t a complete change of heart, of course. The djinn still kept many thoughts to himself, and Bilbo often wondered what was going on behind his blue eyes. They had come to know each other better, but so far, their conversation had seldom touched delicate subjects – except from their visit to Elostirion. The books they had read together had been a great help to learn of the other’s interests and opinions, but it had been a cautious, gradual way to get to know each other.

But since they had planted the acorn in Erebor together, Thorin had opened to Bilbo. He spoke more of himself, sometimes even of his own childhood – always with more than a hint of sadness in his voice, but Bilbo felt honoured that he trusted him enough to talk about such personal matters. Maybe the word was too strong to describe Thorin, but he deemed Bilbo more light-hearted.

What delighted Bilbo most, however, was Thorin’s smile. He didn’t smile often and never as bright as he had in Erebor. But not long ago the hobbit hadn’t even been able to imagine his djinn smiling, and now he found himself lying awake at night and wondering if Thorin – within earshot in the bedroom next to his – still bore the smile that had brightened up his face during their earlier discussion in the study.

He had gotten used to Thorin’s presence – no, that wasn’t exactly true; Bilbo appreciated it. He esteemed their writing lessons and their readings in the study, or when they just sat together, everyone absorbed in his own activity or thoughts. The djinn’s presence felt so natural that it was strange in turn when the doorbell announced the arrival of the first guests, and Thorin was no longer at his side, but had disappeared in his pocket.

Bilbo was greeted by a cheerful “Happy Birthday!” from Hamfast and his wife Bell, and he could already see the next guests coming up Bagshot Row: Drogo and Primula walked with linked arms, and next to them – somewhat forlorn next to the happy couple, but obviously in a good mood nonetheless – went Drogo’s sister Dora. They exchanged greetings and congratulations, and before they had finished, the last guests stood in the entrance hall as well: Bilbo’s uncle Longo and his wife Camellia. Their son Otho was with them, and he in turn was accompanied by Lobelia Bracegirdle. They had only announced their engagement a couple of weeks ago – even Bilbo had heard of it –, and seemed to have only eyes for each other. Maybe that was a good thing. Bilbo always found it difficult to talk to Otho; they had little in common.

After more handshakes he led his guests into the dining room, and soon they were chattering and enjoying the first course. Everybody praised the vegetable pies, and Bilbo had to hide his smile behind his wineglass. He had prepared the dough, but everything else was Thorin’s doing.

After a while, though, he had to restrain himself from frowning. At first it seemed as if his guests were talking about everything and anything, about the sunny autumn days, their favourite pumpkin recipes, the beer in the _Green Dragon_. But their talk was a touch too light-hearted, and sometimes it even sounded forced. Bilbo soon found out that they were trying to avoid any gossip because he would very probably be in the spotlight. They were worried about him – still.

To be honest, there had been enough reasons to worry about him: his parent’s death, his own sickness, the unfortunate incident with the gold coins, and recently he kept mostly to himself. Bilbo knew that Hobbiton talked about him, and he didn’t care – at least he didn’t care that much anymore.

But now everybody seemed to be afraid to express their worries about him … at least openly. He knew, however, that he would hear them sooner or later, and he was right.

He excused himself to fetch the next course from the kitchen. The stew had simmered all the while and was finally ready to be eaten, but before Bilbo reached for the potholders, he took the opportunity and dropped some crumbs of pie crust into his pocket. Thorin had helped him so much, it was only fair that he got something to eat as well. Actually he should be able to sit with them at the table and enjoy all courses …

Footsteps approached, and Bilbo quickly took the potholders, trying to act absolutely naturally. He didn’t dare imagine what would happen if somebody found him staring into his shirt pocket … or even talking with it.

It was Primula, and he relaxed a bit as he saw her smile.

“Can I help you?”, she asked, but Bilbo told her that he was perfectly fine. She watched him for a moment before remarking casually: “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been visiting you for tea, cousin.”

“I know. I’ve been … busy. The house, you see, and the garden”, Bilbo replied carefully. Then he put on a knowing smile. “But Drogo is much better company than me, don’t you think? Don’t deny it, Primula, I see how happy you are with him. And I’m really happy for you. Both of you.”

“Thank you”, his cousin said, and her eyes were shining with joy. Bilbo could still see the spark of worry in them, though, so he quickly showed her another smile and finally took the pot into the dining room.

The rest of the evening passed in the same way. The chatter at the dining table was easy-going, but whenever Bilbo got up he was immediately followed by somebody. When he fetched the roast chicken, Bell was there, smiled wordlessly at him and helped him to carry the platter to his guests. When Bilbo went into the cellar to get two more bottles of wine, Hamfast accompanied him, clapped him jovially on the shoulder, and took one more bottle with the remark “the more the merrier”. Even Lobelia – with whom he wasn’t close yet – was part of the scheme, could be separated from Otho for a while and followed him into the pantry. She only remarked how delicious Thorin’s blueberry pie looked before she went back with him into the dining room.

It was almost amusing how much they tried to figure out if he was alright without daring to ask him directly. But Bilbo got the impression that his guests where saving the best for last, and he was right again.

It was late, and Hamfast and Bell had returned home, and Longo and his family were on their way as well. That was when Dora approached him, and Bilbo knew exactly what was about to come.

“My dear”, she began, “you’ve been such a generous host, it would be inexcusable to leave you alone with cleaning up! Let me help you. Besides”, she said with a glance at Primula and Drogo who gazed at each other over the rim of their glasses, “we can leave our lovebirds some moments for themselves.” With that, Dora marched on into the kitchen, and Bilbo could only follow her.

And she didn’t waste any time – not with helping him washing-up, of course, but with offering him her advice.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Bag End”, Dora began, her hands not even close to the washing water. She was younger than him, and yet she managed to sound as if she was much older, had seen more of the world and thus was wiser as well. “But I always marvel how beautiful it is, and how vast. To be honest, I thought it was almost too big for you and your parents alone … and it’s certainly far too big for a bachelor.”

There it was, finally. Bilbo wanted to sigh, but Dora didn’t leave him the time for even such an utterance, and her next comment almost made him crack a plate.

“You must be lonely in such a vast home.”

“I am not lonely.” Bilbo spoke calmly, emphasizing every single word. It was the truth. But, he realized, he couldn’t tell her why he wasn’t lonely. He couldn’t tell her that it was because of Thorin, that they cooked and ate and read and talked together, that they actually _lived_ together, and that it was lovely.

Suddenly he felt weary. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t tell anybody that he was happy, and why he was happy. It wasn’t fair that he had to hide Thorin at all, and it wasn’t fair in the first place that Thorin had lost so much.

But nothing else passed his lips than another assertion that he wasn’t lonely.

Dora didn’t believe him, of course. “You should be looking for someone”, she stated plainly. Bilbo suppressed a sigh and concentrated on the soapy water instead. He let her babble on while he washed the dishes and wondered if Primula and Drogo would eventually release him. Probably they didn’t think of him at all, but had only eyes for each other, just like Otho and Lobelia had had during the evening. Both couples had shown their affection clearly whereas he had to hide Thorin in his pocket. Not that he thought of himself and the djinn as a couple, goodness … But Thorin was his friend, and it _was_ affection that Bilbo felt for him.

Despite his resolution not to listen at all something amidst Dora’s ramble caught his attention: It was his mother’s name that made him look up.

“… was terribly nervous after your father had proposed to her. She asked my mother for advice – they were about the same age, childhood friends as well, but my mother had already been married for some years …” Bilbo nodded dutifully; Belladonna and Ruby had been close friends indeed. “I wasn’t even born back then, but I think it left quite an impression on mum, and she told it to me when I spoke to her of my own concerns about courtship.” She gave him a meaningful glance that Bilbo simply ignored. “So, when she saw how nervous your mother was, she told her: ‘Imagine you and Bungo sitting in the parlour together at teatime. Just sitting together and drinking tea, no more, no less. How does that make you feel?’ And”, Dora smiled broadly at him, “guess what your mother answered?”

Bilbo did her the favour and asked: “What did she say?”

“‘Happy’, your mother said. ‘Very very happy.’ And my mother’s advice was that her answer should tell her that everything would be okay, and that she needn’t worry.”

Bilbo found himself smiling despite another remark that he shouldn’t be afraid of courting someone as well. He had never heard this story before, but he could clearly imagine his parents sitting in the parlour and having their afternoon tea. They had looked very happy indeed.

Dora’s promise to help him with the dishes had only been a means to an end, but now that she had delivered her speech she was bustling out of the kitchen quicker than Bilbo could dry his hands. Drogo and Primula were rapidly gathered up, and before he knew what was happening they waved goodbye to him.

Bilbo looked after them with a smile on his face. Absent-mindedly he noticed that he still held the wet dishtowel in his hands and turned to go back inside.

Thorin waited for him in the entrance hall. In the light of the lamps he looked like a mythical being indeed: His skin looked like gilded, the braided dark hair a sharp contrast to it. The silver on his arms and ankles gleamed as he made a little bow.

“Happy birthday, Master Baggins.”

Dora’s words – no, actually the words his mother had spoken such a long time ago – echoed through his head by their own accord. _Happy. Very very happy._

“Thank you, Thorin”, he answered warmly. “Will you come into the kitchen with me? I put some food for you aside. I will warm it over for you.”

As he passed Thorin, the djinn quietly remarked: “You could wish for it.”

Bilbo smiled at him, remembering their talk about cooking. “I guess I could”, he eventually said and went into the kitchen to warm the food over himself.

Thorin watched him as he did so, but said nothing. Bilbo remembered how uncomfortable he had felt not long ago whenever the djinn’s gaze had rested upon him – how strange it deemed him now to have felt like that at all! But now the silence between them wasn’t oppressive, and he still smiled as he placed the bowls and plates on the table. Hobbits were hearty eaters and his guests had been no exception, but he had made sure that something of each dish was left for Thorin, from the stew to the chicken to the roast potatoes, and there was even a big slice of his famous seedcake. He poured themselves some wine and watched the djinn who clearly enjoyed the feast.

 _Just sitting together and drinking tea, no more, no less,_ Dora’s voice appeared uninvited in his head, but he just took another sip of wine without sparing much thought about her. His cheeks were heated, but he had eaten – and drunk – plenty, so he didn’t spare much thought about that as well.

When the plates in front of him were empty, Thorin put down the silverware so slowly that it almost seemed like a ritualized gesture. “Thank you”, he said, and there was something in his voice – a sincere, deep-felt gratitude – that made the hobbit wonder if he had ever had a feast since his youth in Erebor.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it”, he answered, trying not to sound as deeply touched by the djinn’s words as he was. “Will you sit with me in the parlour for a while?”

“I would like to do that.”

They left the kitchen and headed for the parlour. Thorin sat down in an armchair – he always sat there when they read together, so Bilbo was already calling it Thorin’s chair. The hobbit, however, first went to the cupboard and grabbed a parcel. He awkwardly held it out to the djinn. Thorin in turn stared at the sky-blue tissue paper, unsure how to react.

“There is a custom amongst hobbits”, Bilbo explained. “The birthday child gives presents to relatives and close friends.” He could have gone into more details, but he only added: “This is for you.”

Thorin carefully took the parcel from his hands. The tissue paper rustled as he unfolded it, but neither of them spoke a word. Thorin’s eyes widened slightly as he saw the gift. He reached out to touch it, and the movement was careful as if he were about to graze a tiny bird. Something in his face twitched, but if with delight or something else Bilbo couldn’t tell.

The hobbit scratched his cheek nervously. “I guess that you don’t feel the cold like I do, but it’s already autumn, and although the Shire has a rather mild climate, the winters can be unpleasant. So –”

He fell silent as Thorin took the gift out of its wrapping and held it in front of him to admire it – for the expression on his face was definitely admiration. The gift was a tunic in dark blue, too big for any hobbit, and the cut wasn’t very hobbit-like as well. It was rather dwarvish, and Bilbo felt proud at his sewing skills. The needle had bitten into his fingers more than once, but he was very pleased with the result.

“That’s not all yet”, he explained as Thorin turned the tunic to and fro. Did Bilbo just imagine things, or were his eyes glassy? He went to the cupboard once more and returned with a whole outfit: another tunic, this time ruby-coloured, dark grey pants, a coat in a grey-green hue, and the boots he had bought from the merchants Bofur and Bifur. He hadn’t been able to hide his purchases of cloth from the djinn – how could he have managed that when he had to stay close to him? But he had tried to hide his needlework as best as he could, and he had spent hours in his bedroom, sewing in the light of a candle.

Thorin looked at the clothes, and his face was strangely blank except for his eyes. Bilbo couldn’t shake off the feeling that he watched a child that had just been presented with its own pet and couldn’t believe it yet. But eventually he spoke in a quiet voice: “It is – was not the custom amongst my people. Instead we gave presents to the birthday child.” The djinn’s gaze found Bilbo’s, and the sadness the hobbit saw in them made his heart ache. “But I”, Thorin said, “have nothing I could give you.”

Bilbo wanted to assure him that it wasn’t necessary and that he didn’t expect any gift when there was the sudden spark of an idea in Thorin’s eyes.

“Do you own a harp, maybe?”, he asked hopefully.

“No, I don’t”, Bilbo answered. Before the spark could fade again, he added: “But I wish I had a harp. Not the kind hobbits or elves play, but a harp like it was built back in the days of old. I wish”, he paused a moment, a smile spreading on his face, “for a dwarvish harp!”

“As you wish, Master Baggins.” For the first time Thorin uttered these words they didn’t sound like an empty phrase, and his face wasn’t a blank mask, but showed a smile.

Only moments later, a harp appeared in Thorin’s hands. Bilbo had never seen a music instrument like this before. It was beautiful, and made from gold. Before he could take a closer look, Thorin sat down and pulled the harp close as if he were about to embrace it. Then he bowed his head and began to play.

His first touch charmed a sweet sound from the instrument, and Bilbo was enchanted at once. He had never heard such a melody before, and yet it felt familiar. He sat down right in front of Thorin and pulled his knees up so he could rest his chin on them.

Bilbo was very fond of music and songs. Whenever he listened to one that wasn’t of hobbitish origin – and thus mainly concerned with the comforts of home, food, and drink – he imagined the places where they had been written, the people who lived there, and how it would be to see those far-away countries himself. But this time, his thoughts didn’t wander into the distance, but stayed in Bag End. This time he had only eyes and ears for Thorin.

The dwarf’s eyes were almost closed, the blue irises nearly hidden underneath his lashes, and yet Bilbo got the feeling that Thorin kept him enchanted with his gaze as well. His lips moved as if he were whispering secrets, but the faint words were lost amidst the music. Bilbo watched them intently nonetheless. A faint sheen of wetness lay upon them, and in the warm light of the open fire they looked incredibly soft. The sight of them, together with the harmonious music that surrounded him like an embrace, pulled at his heartstrings. He couldn’t name the feeling – maybe because the soft sounds lulled him, and his thoughts became thick as honey.

His eyelids fluttered, and suddenly he was looking at Thorin’s fingers. They danced across the strings, sometimes slow, almost reverently, then again faster, but their touch was always gentle.

In a strangely clear moment Bilbo realized that he yearned for this touch. He longed to feel those hands cupping his face, those thumbs caressing his cheeks, those fingers tracing the features of his face. They were a hobbit and a djinn, but did that matter? A finger grazing over his lips while blue eyes rested fondly upon him. But Bilbo felt strong affection for Thorin. The velvet voice whispering words sweeter than the harp’s music. Thorin made him happy. Lips so close in front of him curling into a smile. He loved that smile.

And while Bilbo’s mind was lost in dreams about such tenderness, the music went on. It was all around him, covering him like a warm blanket, and finally lulling him to sleep.

Being fast asleep, Bilbo didn’t notice how the same hands he had dreamed of gently lifted him up, carried him into his bedroom, and tucked him in.

                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note on Dora Baggins: After the long-expected party, Bilbo will give her something in memory of a LONG correspondence ... a large waste-paper basket.
> 
> Thank YOU for staying tuned and all the lovely comments, you're the best readers one could wish for  
> ＼（＾０＾）ノ
> 
>  
> 
> And another big big thank-you to [Ruto](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/post/165521288529/his-first-touch-charmed-a-sweet-sound-from-the)! The art you did for this chapter is just amazing :D


	7. Gold in a dying fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet afternoon at Bag End takes an unexpected turn, and Bilbo finds himself learning things about his djinn’s past and former masters he couldn’t have imagined – not even in his nightmares. More than ever, he is determined to show Thorin that the master of a djinn can be different …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I changed the rating up to "M" because I think that there are some quite dark and angsty things mentioned in this chapter ... But there's fluff as well, I promise ;)

Dora had said that Bag End was vast, and under the prevailing circumstances Bilbo was inclined to agree with her.

Right now he was balancing on a ladder, trying to adjust branches of evergreen to the doorframe. All hobbits brought green branches into their houses at the beginning of winter. They should remind them that the cold days and long nights wouldn’t last, but that spring would return in good time. It had been his mother’s special habit not only to adorn the walls with garlands, but the doorframes as well. Belladonna had always liked to pass beneath the fresh green when moving from one room into another.

Bilbo had not decorated his smial in that manner since his parents had passed away more than two years ago. He had tried, but the simple act of looking for suitable branches had been too painful – he had always joined his father on his search, and afterwards the three of them had adorned their home together  –, and he hadn’t taken a single twig of evergreen with him. But this year, he felt like reviving his mother’s tradition.

He smiled to himself as he heard Thorin rummaging about in the parlour. Bilbo did so quite often recently – it felt so easy, and every smile made a lovely warmth spread in his chest. It was only now that he realized how dearly he had missed all this during the last two years: smiling and humming or even softly singing to himself for no other reason than being happy.

Bilbo had spent a lot of time lying awake and thinking about the reason for his new-found happiness … about the djinn that slept in the bedroom next to his … about the djinn he was falling in love with. Yes, Bilbo was falling in love with Thorin. The mere thought made him blush right to the tip of his ears again.

At first Bilbo had been uncertain about his feelings, and he had wondered why Thorin made him so happy. Was it because they spent so much time together? After all, they were closer than a married couple in some ways. Spouses could do something on their own, even if it was only such a simple thing as going to the market or on a walk by oneself, whereas Bilbo and Thorin were always bound together. They had found ways to have a little privacy, like staying in adjoining rooms. However, the hobbit was always aware of the djinn’s presence, and he had wondered if it was just natural to feel affection for someone you were that close with.

On the other hand, Bilbo didn’t consider himself a very sociable hobbit. If he had to stay close to somebody else to such an extent, he would certainly have strong feelings – but annoyance, not affection.

Therefore he came to the conclusion that he was happy because of Thorin, and Thorin alone. The beginning of their relationship had been difficult, but since he had begun to open to Bilbo, the djinn had proved that he was amiable company: He was intelligent and thoughtful, brave and enduring, and charming as well. Sometimes Bilbo almost forgot that he was a djinn, especially since he wore the clothes the hobbit had given him on his birthday. Considering how happy Thorin was with them – he treated them very carefully and always folded them neatly when putting them back in the wardrobe – and how stunning he looked in them, Bilbo had decided to make some more garments for him. Thorin looked best in dark colours – blues and greens and greys –, but Bilbo didn’t care about the glances he received for buying fabric in such unhobbitish colours. He had come to the conclusion that the other hobbits should talk about him whatever they liked.

There was another conclusion he had come to: Bilbo couldn’t tell Thorin of the affection he was feeling for him … not yet. He knew how much time and effort it had taken Thorin to open to him, and how much effort it still took him. And who could blame him for doing so only slowly? After all, his past hadn’t been happy at all, and the djinn wasn’t accustomed to such a simple thing as being treated properly, not to mention being close to somebody’s heart. If Bilbo would approach him and confront him with his feelings right now, it would very probably be too much for him. He had to give Thorin time: He should get used to knowing that there was somebody who cared for him, and who wished for him to be truly happy.

And, if Bilbo was honest, he had to get used to the warm feeling in his own chest as well. He had never felt like this before, and although it was a lovely one, it was a bit intimidating, too.

_Maybe_ , he fantasized as he arranged another green branch, _both of us will be ready in spring? It would be a wonderful time to talk about love_ – his heart did a jump at this thought – _with the first warm rays of sunshine, and the blooming flowers. We could go on a walk, somewhere nobody will see us, and sit under the trees for a picnic …_

Lost in his fancies as he was, it took Bilbo some moments to notice that he wasn’t already feeling the warm spring sun on his face, but that decorating the whole smial was such a laborious task that he was starting to sweat. Carefully – he was still standing on a ladder, after all – he took off his jacket and tossed it towards a chair. However, he missed, and the jacket hit the floor.

A moment later, the quiet of Bag End was torn apart by a cry.

It only lasted for a second before ending abruptly, but that was enough to make Bilbo’s blood freeze. He had never heard such a sound before, so full of pain. He could only stand on the ladder and hold on to branches of evergreen as if they were his sole purchase. His heart throbbed, but the smial was quiet again.

_Thorin_ , he thought dizzily. That wasn’t possible. The cry had held no resemblance to the djinn’s velvet voice. But who else – If not Thorin –

“Thorin?”, he asked into the silence, his voice a croak. There came no answer.

He jumped from the ladder and hurried into the next room. There another shock threatened to overwhelm him: Thorin had collapsed on the floor, some branches of evergreen where scattered around him, and his face was hidden from Bilbo’s sight by long tresses of dark hair. What the hobbit could see very clearly, though, was the small pool of blood near the djinn’s head.

Determined not to freeze like a scared fauntling again – and spurred by his fear for Thorin –, Bilbo knelt down at his side and tried to pull him up. But the djinn was taller and broader than he was, and he lacked the strength to carry him into the armchair. At least he managed to lift him into a sitting position so Thorin could lean against it. It was the only comfort he could offer him right now.

“Thorin?”, he asked anxiously.

The djinn muttered something inaudible. His face was pale, and blood was trickling from a cut above his right brow. It looked strange, not like an ordinary cut at all. There were dark lines around it that made it seem like a crack in a tea cup.

Bilbo’s first impulse was to get some water and linen to clean the wound, but he didn’t dare to leave Thorin. He had no idea how far away he could move from the djinn before the spell that bound them together worked – they had never tried to figure that out. He didn’t even know what effect it would have on Thorin, or if it might even hurt him. Bilbo felt helpless, but all he could do was to kneel at Thorin’s side, press his handkerchief on the wound, and wait.

After painfully long moments, the djinn’s murmurs became clearer, and finally his eyelids fluttered open.

“The phial …”, he asked.

“The phial?”, Bilbo echoed, but he already felt for it in his shirt pocket. It was empty, however. “It’s in my jacket. I left it in the east hall.”

“Is it …” Thorin’s face twitched with pain. “Get it.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” Bilbo’s chest was tight with worries, but Thorin’s voice was urgent, and when he repeated his words, the hobbit got up. He almost stumbled in his hurry, and he picked his jacket up without actually looking if the bottle was inside. He knew that it was there – it always was –, so he only took it out when he was back at Thorin’s side.

“Here it is.” He was about to show the phial to the djinn, but something caught his attention: There was a crack on the surface. “I can’t remember seeing this before”, he mumbled. “It looks strange. Almost like a crack in a tea cup –” He stopped as he realized what he had just said. The crack on the bottle looked just like Thorin’s wound! That had to be coincidence. To think that the djinn got hurt because of a crack in the bottle –

“Yes”, Thorin answered his unspoken question. He sounded very tired, and his eyes were shut again. “I feel every damage to the phial on my own body.”

Bilbo stared at him. “But”, he made, unable to continue. There were so many tiny cracks and scratches on the dull surface – the bottle was old, thousands and thousands of years old. It would have been impossible to avoid any damage to it! And yet … Thorin’s arms were covered with thin white lines as well, and Bilbo could only guess how many other scars were hidden underneath his clothes. Should they all be the result of damages, of even the tiniest scratch, to the phial?

“I- I’m so sorry!” He remembered how he had tossed his jacket away, not thinking about the trinket in the pocket, and swallowed hard. The crack seemed so tiny, and it had caused so much pain nonetheless. It was his fault that Thorin was hurt. If he hadn’t been so careless –

“Do not worry”, his djinn consoled him. “The pain will pass. It always does.” With these words, he reached for the hem of his tunic – the ruby-coloured one – and pulled it up. Bilbo hissed as he saw the horrible scar on his side.

“Oh Thorin”, he breathed, “what has happened to you?” He was tempted to touch it, but he didn’t dare. The scar didn’t seem properly healed. It looked so … foul; he couldn’t think of a better word to describe it. It made the great dwarf look strangely vulnerable.

“This happened the first and last time I tried to disobey a master.” Thorin let the fabric fall, and the scar was hidden again. Instead, he intertwined his fingers in his lap; Bilbo could see that the knuckles were white.

“The masters I had known before … him only wished for riches to live a life of plenty. They did not hurt anybody. But this one –” Thorin stopped and swallowed hard. The hobbit reached for his hands and gently untangled the tightly clasped fingers. They trembled as he wrapped his own hands around them.

A few more moments passed before Thorin continued: “This one waged war. I cannot tell you on which countries, or against which lords, or even for which purpose, although he never let go of me. Always I stayed in the shadows behind him, and I only left his stronghold if he wanted to appear amidst his foes like a ghost, instilling fear and terror in their hearts. And he uttered so many wishes. He wished for gold to pay soldiers beyond count, and for weapons, and for books of evil lore. But he was … displeased that my powers over life and death were limited, and I was not able to get rid of his enemies if he wished for it. But he … he was very inventive in figuring out how to use my powers to the same effect. He … he …”

Thorin clearly struggled to speak on, but Bilbo could do nothing more than give his hands a comforting squeeze. The horror in his heart grew, and he felt as helpless as before, when he had waited for Thorin to open his eyes.

“I did not know what he was up to at the first time. One of his fortresses was under siege. He wished for an outer wall to collapse, and I could not refuse. And I did not see a reason to do so for I could not perceive the purpose of his wish at that moment. It was only when one of his servants arrived that I had to learn that … that the wall had crushed countless of his enemies beneath it. The next time he was less subtle.” Thorin’s eyes were dull, he didn’t seem to see anything that surrounded him: not the bright colours of the parlour, not the open fire, not the hobbit at his side.

“He wanted to find out if I could move away from him to fulfil an order. He wished for me to go and find – hunt – a general, and to … to destroy him. I was horrified. I said that I could not … would not to this … And then the curse began.” The djinn’s voice was flat now, as if he was merely retelling something that had happened ages ago to someone else. The fire drew a golden shine over his face, but the sight lacked every warmth. Instead Thorin looked like a statue, cold and remote. “I only remember the pain. I was not strong enough to bear it. I … After it was finally over, I yielded to my master’s wish. I felt so numb. Broken. All I knew was that I did not want to feel such pain again. I did not care about anything else. Even when I went to fulfil his wish – all his wishes –”

Thorin’s voice ultimately broke, and Bilbo felt as if something inside of him broke as well. He was overwhelmed by the grief he saw on the djinn’s face, and he reached out to pull him into his embrace.

Thorin tensed at first, but after a few moments he rested his head against Bilbo’s shoulder; he even raised his arms to hug him awkwardly back. But his chest heaved, and the tension would not leave his body.

Bilbo could hardly believe what he had heard. Thorin hadn’t told much about his former masters, but from the little he had said the hobbit had already guessed that they had only been interested in their own advantage. But such cruelty – it was more terrible than anything he could have imagined in his darkest nightmares.

He remembered the vast halls of Erebor, and the young dwarf prince he had seen in his imagination, strong and proud of his legacy. He tried to imagine a pain that could break this dwarf, but it was beyond his understanding.

When he had met Thorin for the first time, he had thought him to be like stone: his face always blank, more like a statue than a living being, and not caring about anything, but enduring everything that happened to him. But this was what he had become, what the cruelty of others – not quite the Dark Lord himself, he remembered Thorin saying – had turned him into.

But Bilbo had seen the real Thorin: the dwarf who enjoyed a late second breakfast as much as he did, whose eyes brightened up over books and maps, and who smiled so beautifully because of such a little thing as an acorn.

It wasn’t fair. If his heart had felt like breaking before, now his head was full to bursting as he tried to comprehend everything Thorin had told him. But there was this one thought that appeared again and again: It wasn’t fair. Had Thorin not suffered more than enough? Three ages! Three ages of slavery, and nobody could tell how many masters there would be after Bilbo, and what they would do to the djinn who had finally learned to care, even to smile again. It deemed him as if nothing, not even the breaking and rebuilding of the world, could stop the curse that had been cast upon Thorin –

Suddenly, an idea rose from Bilbo’s confused thoughts, clear and vivid.

“Thorin, I wish …”

The djinn in his arms tensed immediately, but Bilbo continued nonetheless.

“I wish that you were free. I wish that you weren’t a djinn anymore, but that you could live your life like any dwarf can, free to go wherever you want, free to do whatever you want. I wish you to be free.”

Silence followed his words. But then Thorin drew back to look into the hobbit’s face. His eyes were wide, but to Bilbo’s relief the dull pain in his eyes had disappeared, and now sheer disbelief stood in them. He gave him an encouraging smile.

Finally, the djinn nodded and whispered: “As you wish, Master Baggins.”

With a shaky exhale, Thorin closed his eyes. Bilbo, however, held his breath and watched the face he had grown so accustomed to. Usually Thorin started to mumble in his own throaty tongue when working his magic, but this time his lips moves inaudibly, and the silence was oppressive. Bilbo bit his lower lips while he stared at the now still face. His heart was pounding painfully. If he had made a mistake with the phrasing –

Thorin opened his eyes so suddenly that Bilbo flinched.

“It is no use”, he said. “I cannot break the spell.” The hobbit felt his heart sink, but to his amazement Thorin smiled at him in a way that almost made him forget about it. “I am very grateful, more than I can put in words. You have done so much for me.”

“It doesn’t feel like that”, Bilbo muttered, not even trying to hide the disappointment that rose in him again. “I’m only doing what I can, and that’s not enough.” He took Thorin’s face between his hands to examine the cut. It had stopped bleeding during the djinn’s story, but it still needed to be tended. At least this was something he could do.

“Do you feel strong enough to get up?”, he asked. “I want to clean and bandage it … And then we should have some tea, I think. I definitely need a cup of tea.”

 

***

 

It turned out, however, that no cup of tea could appease Bilbo’s troubled thoughts. Instead he rolled from one side of his bed to the other, thinking about everything he had witnessed that evening. It wasn’t Thorin’s story alone that kept him awake, although it was terrible enough to keep sleep at bay. It was the djinn’s trust in him – strong enough to tell him something so personal – and his gratitude that kept him sleepless, as well as the nagging feeling that he hadn’t done enough for him.

And there was his bad conscience as well.

Bilbo couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that was relieved that his wish hadn’t worked. It had been dangerous to utter it without thinking properly about it. So many things could have gone wrong! After all, Thorin was thousands of years old, and if Bilbo’s wish had been fulfilled, he might have simply crumbled into dust! It was possible that it was only magic that kept him alive, and if it would be removed …

But there was another reason for his relief, and this was what gnawed at Bilbo’s conscience: He was glad that Thorin had to stay with him. Without the spell that bound them together, he might have decided to leave him, and although Bilbo wanted him to be happy, he was selfish enough to wish that he was part of this happiness. He couldn’t imagine being without Thorin anymore.

So the night passed without him finding much sleep, and yet he was wide awake and full of determination when he got up. A plan had begun to form in his mind, and he had to speak with Thorin.

He elaborated his idea during their breakfast, and it was only after they had finished eating and – he noticed with a twinge of irony – drinking their tea that he began to speak without any introduction or warning.

“I think it would be the best if we would simply forget this whole djinn-master-matter.”

Thorin looked at him, his face grew as pale as the bandage around his forehead, and Bilbo realised how he must have sounded – as if he was about to abandon Thorin and banish him back inside his phial! And that after everything the djinn had told him the day before, trusting that Bilbo wouldn’t judge him for his deeds, but understand him. It was no surprise that Thorin looked hurt, although he tried to hide it.

_A very good beginning_ , Bilbo thought, but hurried to explain himself.

“You see, I don’t have much wishes anyway, and therefore no need for a djinn …” This was getting worse and worse – why couldn’t he be eloquent, just for once? “So why can’t we live together – not like djinn and master, but like friends? I thought about it. As soon as spring arrives, we could go on a journey, away from the Shire. I could carry you in my pocket so that nobody sees you, but when we return … We could return together. Openly, side by side. We could tell the others that we met on the road, became friends, and that I invited you to visit me at home. And when they wonder why you stay, well … We could come up with something, or let them talk …”

He had lowered his gaze to look at the table surface, his cheeks heating as he spoke. He looked up, however, as he heard the scratching of chair legs on the floor, and saw how Thorin stood up and approached him. The djinn did so without a word, and for a moment Bilbo was afraid that he had said something wrong. He got up as well, ready to explain himself further, or to apologize.

But then he felt Thorin’s fingers on his neck, and he brought their foreheads gently together. His hands trembled slightly, and Bilbo reached out to place his fingers on Thorin’s neck in turn to tell him wordlessly that everything was alright.

“I”, Thorin began, but his voice was wavering, and he had to swallow several times before he could try again. “I am …” Another pause. Then: “Thank you, Master Baggins.”

“No”, Bilbo said, his lips curling into a smile. “Not ‘Master Baggins’, not anymore. Don’t think of me as a master any longer. It’s Bilbo.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin let out a tiny laugh, and his breath grazed over the hobbit’s face. “Then thank you, Bilbo. But please, do not forsake my powers completely. They might be of great help for you.”

“I will.” He stayed silent for a moment, enjoying their closeness. The grip of Thorin’s fingers on his neck had become tighter to hold him in place, but it was still gentle. Bilbo had never seen such a gesture before, but it was unexpected intimately, and he had no intention of drawing back. It was way too lovely to even think about such a thing.

“And?”, he eventually asked. “Where should we go, Thorin?”

The question confused Thorin, he could tell from the way the muscles under his fingers tensed. But then he began to understand and eased again. A broad smile appeared on his face. “ _I_ can say where I would like to go? Really?”

“Of course! We should go in the study and have a look at some maps. I mean, we’ve got all winter to prepare our journey, but would you like to start right now?”

Thorin was eager to do so, and they set about their task immediately. It was only maps he showed to him, but Thorin was so happy as if Bilbo had just offered him the whole world.


	8. The world is ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring arrives, and Bilbo and Thorin start on their adventure.

Thorin couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before.

The sky was flecked with thin clouds, and the sun was warm on his face. Spring was young, but the grass was already of such a rich green that he felt like kicking off his boots and walking over it barefooted to feel its smoothness on his bare skin. He craned his neck to enjoy the breeze on his face, to breathe in all the scents it carried to him, to smell grass and flowers and trees.

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, felt free.

It was a feeling he had never experienced. Even when he had been a child, there had been responsibilities – trifles, he thought now, the education of a young prince who should have followed his grandfather and father on the throne. But there had been liberties as well, and he remembered evenings with his family, trips to market stalls – sweet shops, most often – with his younger brother, and listening to his mother playing the harp to his new-born sister. He had been free, but back then he hadn’t understood what that meant.

And then the dragon had come, and its curse laid upon him –

“Stop frowning”, a voice chided softly. Thorin turned to look at Bilbo and – much to his own surprise – he stopped frowning indeed. The hobbit looked very pleased with himself at that. He began to hum, and that again brought a little smile on Thorin’s face.

That was another thing he couldn’t remember feeling before: affection for a master. But seeing him like this – the small body with its soft round forms, clad in bright colours, the smiling face, the bright eyes drinking in the bright colours of their surroundings, and the messy curls bobbing with every step … It would be difficult not to feel any affection for Bilbo Baggins right now.

This hobbit would never cease to amaze him. Never in his long life had Thorin heard of such folk before, but he had learned that self-interest and greed could appear in many forms, and after Bilbo’s first wish for a chest of silver coins he hadn’t expected him to be any different from his former masters.

He had never been so wrong in all his life.

So far, a good master had been someone who wished for the usual things – that was, gold and silver and jewels –, who complained that Thorin couldn’t turn him into someone mightier, or who was disappointed that the djinn couldn’t make his idol fall in love with him, but who left him alone apart from that. He had gotten used to being treated like a servant or a useful thing that would be taken out of its drawer if it was needed. He had even learned to prefer such treatment; it meant that his powers weren’t constantly used, and the harm he could do to other people was thus limited.

But never before had a master asked _him_ what he wished, not even such a simple question like if he wanted a cup of tea. And none of them had ever considered him a friend, not to speak of anyone actually treating him like that. No, there was nobody like Bilbo … somebody who was true and kind, and who stayed to his word.

Thanks to the hobbit, Thorin could almost forget what he was. Ever since his promise to treat him like a friend, not a djinn, Bilbo hadn’t uttered a single wish, except for the inevitable one for Thorin to become tiny and disappear in his pocket. It was only that day that he had made another wish, and Thorin himself had persuaded him to voice it.

They had started on their journey sometime between first and second breakfast, and after a meal that had been generous enough to count as both. Before they had left Bag End, though, Bilbo had wished for him to disappear in his pocket. He had apologized several times for this inconvenience, but he had assured Thorin that he could get out of it as soon as they left Buckland. There wouldn’t be many travellers on the road leading eastward – it was likely that there weren’t any at all –, and nobody would wonder where a hobbit and a dwarf were wandering to.

Bilbo’s assessment had been right: They had only met a few hobbits so far, and the occasional greetings had ceased the further they had gotten on the road. But Bilbo had waited to make sure they were alone before asking Thorin to walk next to him. Then he had wished for the backpack he had left behind in the entrance hall of Bag End to appear in front of them.

“And that’s my last wish”, he had stated with a sour face. “And even that was unnecessary.”

Thorin wouldn’t disagree; they had discussed this matter over and over. Bilbo had insisted that he could carry a large backpack with supplies for two people for some while without any trouble, and that they should split its content up as soon as they had left Buckland. Thorin, however, wouldn’t let the hobbit carry both their luggage all by himself, especially not if there was such a simply solution as wishing for the second backpack. They had actually bickered about this matter, but Bilbo had finally given in grumblingly.

His determination not to treat him like a djinn amused Thorin, but he was also deeply touched. He was deeply grateful, and he still felt a lump in his throat when he remembered the moment Bilbo had wished for him to be free. After all the suffering and neglect he had experienced in the service of former masters, he could have never imagined that there might be one who wished for him to live his own life, to be free … to be happy. Happiness sounded like a strange dream, something that had been out of his reach for such a long time that he had completely forgotten about it. His head had been spinning and he had hardly realised what he had been about to do when he had tried to fulfil Master Baggins’ … Bilbo’s wish.

But the curse was too strong. Thorin always felt it like chains that weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t shake them off, no matter how hard he tried. It had been as if he had attempted to fulfil a master’s wish that was clearly beyond his power. There had always been those who wouldn’t content themselves with his assurance that he couldn’t change other people’s feelings and who had wished for a certain man or woman to fall in love with them nonetheless. It hadn’t worked, just like breaking the curse hadn’t worked.

It didn’t matter to him that the curse was too strong to be broken, though. The sole uttering of the wish had given him hope – hope that there could be a spark of light in his existence as a djinn, something else than darkness and despair. He had already given up. Never, never could he have imagined that anybody would make such a wish.

But Bilbo wasn’t anybody.

They passed a tree, and its shadow covered Bilbo’s face in darkness for a moment – a heartbeat, not more, and yet it felt like a brutal reminder that the happiness Thorin felt wouldn’t last. He knew it for sure. The curse would work as it always did: He himself would stay the same while he watched his master grow old, and when he was gone Thorin would return inside his phial and wait, surrounded by darkness, for the next one to open it ... not to enslave him, of course, but to free him, how the stories would put it. The world would continue to turn as it always did, and the masters would continue to come and go.

It was the first time, though, that Thorin cared about their coming and going. The thought that Bilbo would be gone some day, nothing more than a memory of better days, of long-forgotten days, made his heart heavy. Thorin had to focus on the sight of the hobbit – his face lit by sunshine again – to remind himself that Bilbo wouldn’t disappear the next moment.

He was grateful to have met him, and to be on the road with him towards a village called Bree. During the winter months, Thorin had seen so many names on Bilbo’s maps – the hobbit seemed to own dozens of them –, and all of them had sounded fascinating to him. They had already visited some of them, but travelling, actually _going_ there, maybe even as far as Gondor, couldn’t compare to appearing there by magic. Their destination was of minor importance of Thorin, he was far more fascinated by the way that would lead them there. But they had to decide on a route – and how should that ever be possible when the whole world was ahead? He hadn’t been able to tell if he wanted to go north or south, east or west.

Again it had been Bilbo who had helped him. He had suggested that they should head to Bree at first. Many people passed through this village, and a dwarf and a hobbit wouldn’t attract much attention there. They could ask travellers and merchants where they came from, what news they brought, or if they could tell them about markets, fairs, or other attractions they shouldn’t miss. They were free to go wherever they wanted, Bilbo had declared with a smile, and if they decided where to head from day to day … That was fine as well.

That was another thing that fascinated Thorin: the way Bilbo smiled at him. Not that all of his former masters had always frowned, of course. But it had never been directed at him, only at the riches he had brought them. It had never been so warm and kind, and it had never woken his wish to smile back –

“What do you think about a shortcut?”, Bilbo suddenly asked and pointed amidst the trees. A beaten track, half-hidden under grass, led deeper into the wood.

“A shortcut to where?”, Thorin asked.

“To mushrooms, if we’re lucky!”, Bilbo laughed. The dwarf joined in – it felt so easy –, and together they left the road to walk beneath the trees.

They were lucky indeed – if they ignored a few thorns that got stuck in their clothes –, and that evening the smell of roasted mushrooms hung over their camp. They had sat it up beneath the canopy of a great tree, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze was like a whispered song to Thorin’s ears. The air had become chill, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; it made the fire seem brighter and even more welcoming.

The flames gilded Bilbo’s face and made his eyes shine. He had put the mushrooms on wooden sticks, and he was excited like a child as he held them over the fire. He looked up, however, as he felt Thorin’s eyes resting on him.

“There’s nothing better than roasting mushrooms over a campfire!”, he stated with a grin.

“I think most hobbits would prefer to roast mushrooms over their own hearth fire”, Thorin replied. “At least this is the impression I got.”

It had not gone unnoticed that Bilbo Baggins had been preparing for a journey. There had always been whispers and looks when he had left Bag End, and Thorin had learned that this had already begun before the incident with the gold coins on the market. Bilbo himself had told him about all the troubles that had crashed in on him – his parent’s death, his financial problems, his sickness – and that he now preferred what other hobbits called a solitary life … that he had become unsociable, as most of them would call it.

Therefore it was no surprise that Bilbo hadn’t told many people of his plans to go on a journey. What was a surprise, however, was that the whole village seemed to know nonetheless. A little army of close and distant relatives, neighbours, and acquaintances had come to Bag End, some of them voicing their concerns about the travel plans openly, some of them beating about the bush. Even Bilbo’s cousin Primula hadn’t understood his wish to go on a journey. She seemed to be a sensible lass – Bilbo always spoke fondly of her, and Thorin got the impression that they were close –, but she had tried to talk him out of his plans. So Thorin concluded that most hobbits weren’t curious to see the world beyond their country, but favoured the comforts of their own home.

“Most hobbits would probably prefer that”, Bilbo answered with a shrug. Then his grin broadened. “But, as you might have noticed, I’m not like other hobbits. I’m far too adventurous for their liking. Not respectable enough …” Suddenly a shadow flickered over his face, and he concentrated on turning the wooden spits. “It’s my Tookish side, you know. My mother’s blood. She was considered very unusual for a hobbit, even amongst her own family. And the Tooks are already considered … not entirely hobbitlike. My mother was curious, always wanted to learn about the world outside of the Shire. She went there herself, but she never said how far she actually journeyed. Oh, she told me dozens of wonderful stories about her adventures, but I could never tell which of them were true and which not. Not even when I grew older …” Bilbo smiled dreamily. “Sometimes, when I was a child, she took me on a long walk, and we camped outside. Never far away from Hobbiton, of course, but our little trips felt like adventures indeed. We roasted mushrooms over the fire and gazed into the stars …”

“And … your father?”, Thorin asked cautiously. So far, Bilbo had barely talked about his parents. He didn’t want to bring up sad memories, but he was also fascinated by Bilbo’s story. He hoped to learn more about him.

The hobbit, however, laughed merrily. “Oh, he wasn’t a Took, definitely not! The Bagginses are considered very respectable, and they never did anything unexpected. Well, I guess marrying a Took could be called unexpected.” His expression softened. “He loved my mother dearly. Sometimes she could persuade him to join us on our little adventures. Quite often, actually.” Bilbo was silent for long moments, and when he spoke again his voice held a tremble in it. “It’s a pity that it isn’t summer yet. We might have seen some fireflies. We often watched them together.”

Fireflies. The word stirred something in Thorin, and the image of tiny dancing spots on a grey roof stood in front of his eyes. The image disappeared, though, as Bilbo spoke again.

“I miss them dearly”, he said. Although his voice was quiet, Thorin could clearly hear the emotions it conveyed. “Not that everything was perfect. Father could be a bit difficult sometimes. He was a Baggins, after all, and people expected him to be respectable … him and his only son. But he never forced me to come up to such expectations. I could simply be myself. He never tried to change me.” Bilbo bit his lips. “I miss them”, he repeated.

The sadness in his eyes grieved Thorin, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, no matter how much he wished for it.

It was Bilbo who ultimately broke the silence with forced laughter. “I’m sorry for being so downcast. Just don’t mind me.”

Thorin scratched his cheek. “Please, do not apologize. If you are feeling sad, you should not hide it.” He felt awkward, and he didn’t feel much better when he tried an encouraging smile. “You can always talk to me. We are friends, right?”

Bilbo looked at him with wide eyes, and Thorin was already afraid that he had said something stupid. But finally the hobbit’s lips curled into a soft smile. “We are. Thank you, Thorin.” He shook his head as if to shoo away all gloomy thoughts. “Let’s talk about happier things nonetheless, yes?”

“Like mushrooms?”

“Like mushrooms”, Bilbo confirmed with a nod. “They should be ready soon …” He sniffed audibly. “And they’ll be delicious, I promise you!”

Bilbo had not exaggerated; they were delicious indeed. He was a talented cook, and Thorin had often watched him rummaging around in the kitchen, preparing pies and stews with a little melody on his lips. Thorin hadn’t believed him to be an apt cook or a hearty eater when he had first met him. Quite the contrary: Bilbo had deemed him rather pale and lean even before he had seen other hobbits and had been able to compare his master’s appearance to their soft forms and rosy cheeks.

The image of Bilbo bending over a chest of silver coins and reverently running his fingers through them appeared in front of his eyes. Back then he had thought him to be another master who was only interested in riches beyond compare. Thorin couldn’t remember the last time someone had wished for coins because they needed them, not because they simply wanted to have them, wanted to have more of them than their neighbours, more than everybody else. In the tower of Elostirion, however, he had learned that Bilbo had had good reasons for his wish. He would have lost his home, his beloved Bag End, otherwise, and Thorin knew what it meant to lose one’s home.

The food in his own hands was almost forgotten as Thorin watched Bilbo. The hobbit tucked in heartily, but he still found enough time to tell the djinn about his mother’s favourite mushroom recipes.

“Is this really okay?”, he asked quietly. Bilbo only blinked at him – his mouth was full of mushrooms –, and Thorin explained: “That we are here on this journey. You say that you are as curious as your mother, but I have also seen how much your home means to you. And yet we are here now, far away from it, sitting under a tree, and …” He broke off, unsure how to continue.

Bilbo chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, stayed quiet for another moment. “Oh Thorin”, he finally said. His voice was soft, and something about it caused the djinn to blush slightly. “Do you think I might regret my promise to go on this adventure with you? I won’t.” He smiled, and Thorin quickly lowered his gaze. “But you’re right. I love my home dearly, and I think it would have broken my heart if I had lost it. But I am also a Took, and my heart beats faster now that I’m finally able to see the world. I’ve dreamed of this for such a long time, but I didn’t find the courage to make a move. I was too worried about what people might think about me, if they would call me mad for going on a journey.”

“What has changed your mind?”

“You.” The slight tremble in Bilbo’s voice made Thorin look up again, but now it was the hobbit who stared into the flames. “When my parents were gone … and I realized how little money I had … and when I got ill … I lay awake for so many hours, regretting that I would never be able to go on the journey I had dreamed of. That I would never see the world. How could I, alone and poor and weak as I was? And about to be homeless at that … But then I met you.” A soft smile brightened up his face. “I’m very happy where I am right now. I can fulfil my dream of travelling, and I know that there is a safe place waiting for me to return … for us to return.”

_For us_. Thorin felt a lump in his throat. He had never considered Bag End his home so far, not even when Bilbo had promised him they would live there together – not like master and djinn, but like friends. He felt a deeper gratitude than he could ever express in words, so he stayed silent.

Bilbo seemed to know of his feelings – he always seemed to understand perfectly what was going on inside of him – and didn’t force him into more talk. He only handed him a cup of tea – of course he carried tea leaves with him – and let him alone with his thoughts.

The hobbit’s words still echoed in Thorin’s mind when they had already wrapped into their sleeping bags and blankets. He stared up into the night sky that peeked through the rustling leaves, trying to make sense of the warm feeling in his chest. How long has it been since he had felt gratitude – real gratitude, not mere relief that he was left alone – and affection for someone? It was confusing, he had to admit, to feel like this after an eternity … and upsetting. He wouldn’t find sleep soon.

He got up quietly – he didn’t want to wake Bilbo – and walked a few steps away until there was only the sky above him and nothing blocked his view of the stars.

This was new to him as well, another feeling of freedom he had never experienced so far. He had sometimes looked at the stars, especially after Bilbo had become his master. But the sky had never felt so vast, the glittering stars had never seemed so close. And how bright they were! They were beautiful.

Thorin turned around as he heard the soft fall of footsteps. Bilbo approached him, gathering his blanket around him like a cloak. He didn’t speak a single word, but simply stood next to Thorin. He gazed into the sky as well, and the light of countless stars was in his eyes.


	9. Welcome to the company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in Bree not only gives Bilbo and Thorin a destination of their adventure, but a bunch of travel companions as well.

Thorin was soaked to the skin.

It had been pouring for the last two hours, and by now every inch of fabric clung to his body. His boots were covered with an unpleasant layer of mud, and even his braided hair felt heavy with water and seemed to drag him down.

“Bree weather”, Bilbo grumbled out of the shadows of his hood. He had tried his best to shield himself from the rain, but with little success. His jacket peeped out from under his coat, and it was drenched to such an extent that the bright red colour had actually darkened.

They stood in front of Bree’s west gate and waited to be left in. It had already been closed for the night, and it felt like ages until a man with a lantern finally looked over the gate.

“Who are you, and what do you want in Bree?”, he asked gruffly. Thorin didn’t see more from him than a long nose peeping out from beneath his hood.

“Bilbo Baggins and Thorin”, the hobbit replied in the same voice. “We are on a journey, and we want to stay in one of the inns here.”

The man’s head disappeared, and with some scrunching and rattling the door eventually opened for them – only ajar, though, and the gap was blocked as the gatekeeper stepped towards them, his lantern raised to examine them. Thorin had to squint.

“A hobbit and a dwarf”, the man remarked. “Baggins, you say?”

“Yes, Baggins”, Bilbo answered tersely. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Now would you be so kind to let us in?”

“It’s my business to ask questions after nightfall, especially when there’s so many folk around. A whole bunch of merchants came through here today, with carts and ponies and –”

“Very nice”, Bilbo commented drily and squeezed past the man. Thorin followed, and the gate keeper finally stepped aside as he noticed the dwarf’s broad frame.

“I suggest you go to the _Prancing Pony_. They’ve got rooms in hobbit size. Quite comfortable, I’ve been told.” He kept on muttering, but his voice became inaudible as he closed the gate again with some noise.

“What do you think?”, Thorin asked as they moved on. “Should we listen to his recommendation?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Well, it won’t hurt to take a look …”

The _Prancing Pony_ was actually the first inn they passed, and it made a very good impression. They stopped under an archway that led to a courtyard. It was situated between two wings. Warm light shone through the windows, and the djinn thought that he could smell the flavours of a substantial dinner, roasted meat and vegetables, through the closed door.

Bilbo and Thorin looked at each other, nodded, and headed towards the doorway on the left. A large signboard, showing a white pony reared up on its hind legs, swung in the wind, creaking slightly.

A wave of warmth – it almost felt like heat after the hours in the rain – welcomed them as they entered the _Prancing Pony_. The sudden change in temperature was quite a shock; it took Thorin some moments to notice anything else: the babel of voices, smoke from the log fire and from pipes, the smell of food and ale.

A man in a white apron bustled about in the common room, serving big mugs to his guests. He saw them entering, though, and as soon as his tray was empty he approached them.

“Good evening”, he greeted them. “How can I help you?”

“With beds for two”, Bilbo replied, “if that can be managed.”

The innkeeper walked behind a counter. A visitor book lay there, and he quickly glanced at it. “It’s a busy night”, he remarked. “But we’ve still got some free rooms in the north wings. They are made for hobbits, you know – on the ground floor, bright colours and round windows. If that is alright for you …?” He eyed Thorin, obviously concerned that he might be displeased with a stay in a hobbit-sized room.

Thorin nodded, and the man reached for a quill. “Might I ask your names?”

“Thorin and Bilbo Baggins”, the hobbit answered, and the innkeeper scribbled the names down.

“Bilbo Baggins”, he mumbled while doing so, “and Thorin Baggins. Thank you very much.” His eyes were fixed on the book in front of him, so he missed the quick grin they exchanged at this little misunderstanding. It wasn’t a lie in the narrow sense, though – after all, Thorin and Bilbo shared a connection that was closer than that between actual family members in some ways. Thorin felt warmth spreading inside of him, and as he looked into Bilbo’s face, already flushed by the log fire, he realized once more how lucky he was to have met him.

Eventually the man looked up again. “I guess you’d like supper as well … But you might prefer to change your wet clothes first, I imagine.” He shrugged as if to apologize for the inconvenience the weather had caused them. “It never rains but it pours, we say in Bree. He, Nob!”, he shouted so unexpectedly that Thorin was startled; Bilbo gave a jump as well.

A hobbit appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He nodded casually at them, and a wry smile appeared on his face when the innkeeper told him to show them their rooms. “Better cover your heads”, he grinned. “We have to cross the yard.”

The rain felt like an even greater nuisance than before, and Thorin was glad as they entered the north wing. Nob led on, and Bilbo was right behind him. As the servant entered a room, Bilbo stepped aside and made an inviting gesture towards Thorin.

“After you, Mister Baggins”, he said with a grin.

“That is very kind of you, Mister Baggins”, the dwarf replied smilingly and entered their room.

It was small, but comfortable. Chairs stood around a table, and there was a niche with two beds. Nob quickly kindled the open fire and the lamps and promised to bring them some hot water for a bath.

When the hobbit servant had left, Bilbo huffed and let his soggy cloak fall from his shoulders. “Finally.” His nose twitched, and he held his hands towards the fire. “I feel like a drowned rat.”

“I guess this is a part of travelling we cannot avoid”, Thorin remarked as he studied his reflection in a small mirror. He tugged at his braid; it was soaked and tangled. Undoing it would be a laborious task; loosening the tie alone proved difficult with his clammy fingers.

“Do you need help with your hair?”, Bilbo asked.

Thorin turned to look at him, but no answer came over his lips. By now the hobbit was only wearing pants and his shirt, and the wet fabric clung to his body. The white shirt had become see-through in the rain despite being the last of several layers, and the soft curve of Bilbo’s body was showing. Although the hobbit was soaked, Thorin couldn’t help the feeling that his skin would feel warm if he touched it. He clenched his fingers as if to make sure that they wouldn’t reach for Bilbo. He lowered his gaze as well. Now he concentrated on Bilbo’s hands. He was holding a wooden comb, and once more Thorin didn’t know what to say.

When Thorin had been a child, taking care of somebody’s hair had been considered an intimate gesture. Parents had combed their children’s hair, siblings had helped each other to braid it, and lovers had put special beads into each other’s hair. He was tempted to accept Bilbo’s offer – he couldn’t remember how it felt to have his hair combed, to be cared for like this. But he didn’t know if his people still considered such treatment as a tender act, or if hobbits thought similar. Would Bilbo think it odd if he accepted his offer? Or was he simply trying to be polite, and declining his help would offend him?

Fortunately Thorin was saved from an answer by a knock at the door. Nob entered, followed by two other hobbit servants, and each of them carried buckets of hot water. They repeated the procedure two more times before declaring that the bath was ready and retreating with a little bow.

“After you, Mister Baggins”, Thorin repeated the hobbit’s words from before.

“Thank you. I won’t linger, I promise.”

While Bilbo disappeared in the bathroom, the dwarf grabbed the comb and busied himself with untangling his hair. There were several knots, and he felt a sharp tug more than once. He smiled to himself nonetheless – he could hear splashes of water through the closed bathroom door, followed by the sigh of a content hobbit. Eventually Bilbo began to sing softly, some song about washing weary mud away, the sweet sound of falling rain, and splashing water with one’s feet.

He kept his promise, though, and soon left the bath again. The rooms might in hobbit-size, Thorin thought amusedly, but the towels were definitely made for men. Bilbo almost disappeared in the one he had wrapped around himself. His feet left wet tracks on the wooden floor as he strode towards the open fire. The scent of the herbal soap he had used mixed pleasantly with the fire’s distinct smell.

The hobbit raised an eyebrow and made a shooing gesture towards the bath, and Thorin realized that he had stared at him _again_. He fled into the bathroom before Bilbo could notice the colour on his cheeks.

The stone floor was chill under his feet, but the water in the tub was wonderfully warm, and Thorin sighed as he sank into it. It would have been tempting to doze for a while like this, but he remembered that dinner was waiting for them in the common room. Therefore he didn’t linger, but climbed out of the tub soon. He tied his freshly washed hair up in a ponytail, dried himself off – the towel was too big for him as well – and changed into fresh clothes.

Bilbo had towelled himself and put on dry clothes in the meanwhile. His curls were still damp, but the hot bath had raised his mood, and he was looking forward to their dinner. There was an umbrella next to the coat peg. They huddled together under it as they crossed the yard and reached the common room without getting soaked again.

Bilbo and Thorin sat down at a free table in the middle of the room. It seemed to be a busy night indeed, just as the innkeeper had told them. Thorin could see many people in the dim light of the three lamps hanging from the beam, and servants were busily moving from one table to the other, the inn keeper amidst them. One of the maids told them in passing that she would bring them their food at once.

Bilbo had been right: A hobbit and a dwarf travelling together didn’t attract any attention; at least the maid hadn’t stared at them. Most of the people were men, but there were also some hobbits, and – Thorin’s throat felt constricted as he saw them – there were two dwarves sitting on a table in the corner.

One of them had white hair and a friendly face whereas the other was bald. His brown moustache and beard were quite impressive, though – as were his broad frame and his muscles. They seemed to be an unlikely couple, like a scholar and a warrior.

Bilbo saw Thorin’s gaze, of course, and turned his head to glance at them unobtrusively. The dwarves were engrossed in conversation and didn’t take any notice of them.

“Oh.” His face brightened up a bit as he saw the reason for Thorin’s curiosity. “Would you like to talk to them?”

The question came out of nowhere for the djinn, and he looked away from the two dwarves. “I … I do not think it would be a good idea”, he muttered eventually. He didn’t belong into this age, and he was afraid that other dwarves would realize that quickly. After all, everything he knew about his own folk was thousands of years old, or booklore. “I am afraid that I might say something stupid, or act strangely, and that they … will find out who I am. _What_ I am.” He felt foolish, and his face was hot with shame.

“You’re Thorin.” Bilbo showed him an encouraging smile. “Isn’t that enough?”

He couldn’t help but return the smile. “How is it that you always find the right words?”

“You’re mistaken.” Bilbo’s eyes suddenly saddened, and he lowered his gaze. “I often lack the right words … or the courage to say them.”

Thorin wanted to ask what he was speaking about, wanted to see the smile return to his face, but the maid chose exactly that moment to appear with their food. She placed the plates with roasted meat, vegetables and bread as well as the ale mugs on the table, and when she left, Bilbo looked as cheerful again as any hobbit at mealtime.

The food was good – although not as good as the meals Bilbo prepared –, and after they had eaten they felt as if their journey through the rain was nothing more than an unpleasant dream. They had another mug of ale, but kept to themselves and didn’t make any effort to speak with the other guests. Thorin was grateful for it. This was the first time in thousands of years that he was amongst people – people that wouldn’t treat him like a slave, or as if he was invisible to their eyes –, and only sitting at the table and watching them was quite overwhelming. He had been afraid that he would feel wary of so many strangers, but as he watched them chattering and drinking and singing he got the impression that they were decent people. A bit tipsy and loud maybe, but nothing to worry about.

He couldn’t say the same, however, about three grim-looking men who sat together in a corner. The mugs in front of them were untouched, and the way they stared at the other people sent a cold shiver down Thorin’s spine. He didn’t like the looks of them, and he didn’t object when Bilbo suggested to retire after they had emptied their own mugs.

The rain had stopped in the meanwhile, and they didn’t need the umbrella. As they crossed the yard, Thorin heard the door to the common room opening behind them with a creak. He looked back, and his eyes narrowed as he recognized one of the grim-faced men. He reached for Bilbo’s elbow. The hobbit glanced up and saw the concern on his face at once. He didn’t turn back, but trusted Thorin’s assessment of the situation and quickened his pace. They wouldn’t be bothered as soon as they were in their room again –

Another man stepped out of the shadows in front of them to cut them off, and before Bilbo and Thorin could change their direction another one appeared to their left. The three men moved slowly, almost casually, but they were clearly closing in on them. Thorin gritted his teeth; the only weapon he had – if it could be called a weapon at all – was a knife.

“Baggins?”, the man in their back asked gruffly. 

Seeing that there was no way for them to escape a confrontation, Bilbo and his djinn slowed down and turned around.

“Who wants to know?”, the hobbit replied bravely. Thorin, however, saw how tense he was. His first impulse was to move himself in front of Bilbo – after all, he was taller and broader, and he had some experience in fighting. But since they were surrounded by now, it wouldn’t make any sense, so he stayed where he was.

“ _I_ want to know.” The man laughed; it was a harsh sound. “Even here in Bree we’ve heard the stories about the absurdly rich Mister Baggins, and we’re very pleased that you decided to pay us a visit.” His face grew cold, and there was a greedy shine in his eyes. “I hope you’ve taken some of your gold with you. Otherwise we would be disappointed.”

One of his fellows took a step forward, and Thorin reacted quickly: He turned around and threw himself at the robber. His sheer weight was enough to drag him to the ground; the man grunted as Thorin fell heavily upon him. The dwarf pressed him to the ground and reached for the dagger at the man’s belt, trying to disarm him. The other robber, however, grabbed his wrist and pulled him on his feet with a jerk that sent a sharp pain through his arm. A kick against the back of his knee sent him to the ground again. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. He thought to hear Bilbo shouting his name, but he wasn’t sure; the voice was faint amidst the rushing of blood in his ears. The feeling of cold steel against his throat, though, was unmistakable.

He tore his eyes open again, and what he saw woke his urge to yell with frustration: The rascal he had sent to the ground had gotten to his feet again, and Thorin had to watch how his arms wrapped around Bilbo to hold him in place. The hobbit did his best to struggle against him, but the man was much taller and stronger, and his resistance was futile. The leader examined him remorselessly, as if he was a mere thing, before he bent down and began to search Bilbo.

Bilbo wriggled against the arms that held him captive, but he stood motionless as soon as the leader drew his dagger and cut the pouch from the hobbit’s belt. It plunged into his hands, and he weighed it with an assessing look on his face. But he wasn’t satisfied yet. Brass buttons fell to the muddy ground as he continued his rough search. The dagger bit into his skin as Thorin revolted against the robber’s grip; he couldn’t just watch how that man put his vile hands into Bilbo’s pockets! He –

The man pushed his hands into the pocket where Bilbo kept the djinn’s phial, and everything disappeared. The whole world blurred in front of Thorin’s eyes, and his body turned into a block of ice. He felt the touch of the stranger’s hands on his phial like a punch, and he gasped for breath. _No_ , he thought horrified. _No, no, no. He mustn’t –_

The robber’s fingers wrapped around the phial, and to Thorin it was as if they wrapped around his heart to crush it. He had witnessed this horrible feeling before: the dread that came along with the theft of his phial. If somebody stole the phial from his master, the magic that bound them together was torn apart violently. It wasn’t a quiet transition, but a sudden one that felt like a knife in his side. If the man pulled the cork out of the bottle now, he would become his new master, and he had no choice than to obey him. And Bilbo – Bilbo –

The crushing feeling disappeared as quickly as it had befallen him, and Thorin found himself on his knees, gasping for breath. His head was spinning, and he was covered with cold sweat. Only slowly did his senses return to him, and it took him long moments to realize that Bilbo was at his side, rubbing his back and calling his name.

He managed to look up into the hobbit’s worried face. “Are you alright?”, he croaked. Bilbo nodded, and he added: “The bottle?”

“I’ve got it.” Bilbo opened his jacket just wide enough to show it to him. Thorin sighed with relief. He didn’t dare to think what would have happened if the leader of the robbers had become his new master –

He glanced up so quickly that his vision blurred again. The men were nowhere to be seen. Instead he saw two dwarves – the dwarves from the common room. They had drawn their weapons. They turned around and approached Bilbo and Thorin.

The dwarf with the white hair spoke first. “It’s really a pity”, he said with regret, “that not even the guests of an honourable house like the _Pony_ are safe from such rascals.”

“You’re okay?”, the bald dwarf asked. His voice was rough, but not unfriendly.

“Y-yes”, Bilbo answered and helped Thorin to get up. “We’re deeply indebted to you.”

The elderly dwarf made a dismissive movement with his hand, but the bald one narrowed his eyes. “You’re travelling on your own? Only the two of you?” Bilbo nodded, and he asked: “You aren’t outlaws, are you?” His gaze rested upon Thorin at this question.

Bilbo inhaled sharply as he heard this insult, and Thorin almost smiled despite the dull ache he still felt. “I assure you that we are no outlaws”, he said. “We are travellers.”

The warrior-like dwarf surveyed them. Suddenly he bowed down. “Dwalin, at your service.”

“Balin, at your service”, the other dwarf introduced himself as well.

“Thorin, at yours.” The djinn felt relieved that at least the way how dwarves introduced themselves hadn’t changed since his youth in Erebor. Bilbo made a little bow as well.

“Enough of the niceties”, Dwalin said eventually. “We have repelled those men, but they might return.”

“My brother is right, I’m afraid”, Balin observed thoughtfully. “I don’t think they will give up so easily; maybe they’re looking for reinforcements. Or”, he added, and Bilbo’s hand on Thorin’s arm tensed, “they wait until you leave in the morning and follow you.”

“You should come with us”, Dwalin said straightforwardly. “Our company leaves in the morning, and they won’t dare to return when you’re surrounded by us dwarves.”

“Our camp is close by”, his brother explained.

Thorin and Bilbo looked at each other. Then the hobbit turned to the dwarves. “Just give us a moment to get our backpacks.”

 

***

 

Straw tickled Thorin as he slowly drifted from sleep to waking.

Bilbo was sleeping next to him. He was so close that the djinn felt his breath brushing over his neck, and he thought to feel the soft tickle of curls on his skin as well. The constant whiff of breath had something lulling about it, and Thorin was tempted to curl up in their straw bed to enjoy the warmth and comfort it offered just a bit longer.

But then he heard faint murmurs and was highly alert at once; he had not forgotten the encounter with the robbers. However, he restrained himself and only opened his eyes to a slit.

Two dwarves stood in front of their impromptu bed in the stable. One had blonde hair and a braided moustache, the other dark hair, and his chin was only covered with stubble. Both deemed him very young, and it wasn’t only their looks: They didn’t even try to be surreptitious, but giggled and pointed towards them. They were obviously fascinated by the guests Balin and Dwalin had brought to their camp, especially by Bilbo: Thorin heard them whisper – not too quietly – about the halfling.

Said halfling eventually stirred and sat up; straws were entangled in his hair. He stretched himself lazily before he noticed that they were being watched.

“Good morning”, he greeted friendly.

The young dwarves looked at him rather dumbfounded, but before they could react, a sharp bellow was heard: “Fíli! Kíli!”

Both of them looked as if they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar as Dwalin stepped into the stable and frowned at them. “Shouldn’t you help the others?”, he grumbled, and that was enough to make the young dwarves retreat. The blonde one, however, remembered his good manners and stopped for a moment to hastily return Bilbo’s greeting.

“Breakfast’s ready”, Dwalin announced without ceremony.

“A good morning to you as well, Dwalin”, the hobbit replied cheerfully, and the warrior’s stern face lit up with a smirk.

Bilbo grimaced as he got up, and Thorin eyed him with concern. He had seen the marks the robber’s treatment had left on the hobbit’s skin – Bilbo had tried to play it down, but Thorin had insisted on making sure that he wasn’t hurt. He had applied some of the ointment they carried with them on the bruises, but treating Bilbo like this hadn’t been his first choice. “Bilbo …”, he began.

“Don’t worry”, the hobbit interrupted him at once, but his voice was gentle. “We’ve already discussed this last night. I’m not in pain, and the bruises will vanish … without any magic.” He cast a glance at Dwalin before looking at Thorin again. “But I appreciate your offer to help.  I truly do.”

Thorin picked the straws out of Bilbo’s hair smilingly. If his powers could ease his pain, he would gladly make use of them. Wasn’t it strange that he couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of his magic like this?

Eventually they followed Dwalin into a courtyard, and the djinn looked around curiously. It had been dark when the brothers had brought them into the courtyard of another inn, and the other dwarves of their company had already retired. They hadn’t slept in the rooms of the inn, as Balin had told them, but in their own caravans. They had looked dull and little inviting in the dark of the night, but now Thorin saw that they were painted in bright colours, and signs and letterings told of the goods its owner sold: fabrics and housewares and jewellery and toys, and Thorin saw a food stall as well. These merchants seemed to offer everything one could wish for.

The doors of the caravans stood open now, and some dwarves were already preparing for their departure. Most of them, though, had gathered around a cooking fire. They made way for Thorin and Bilbo, and both of them got a bowl with porridge without any further questions. However, the djinn could feel their curious glances resting upon them.

Again it was Bilbo broke the spell. “Good morning”, he greeted them. “Thank you very much for your hospitability. My name is Bilbo Baggins, and this”, he pointed at the djinn with his spoon, “is Thorin.”

A young dwarf with a bowl cut stared at him wide-eyed as he heard Thorin’s name, and the other dwarves around the fire – Fíli and Kíli amongst them – seemed astonished as well. Thorin felt uneasy. Was something wrong with his name? Or should he have been introduced with his father’s name, as it had been usual in Erebor? This wasn’t a good start, not at all.

This time he wasn’t saved by Bilbo’s amiable chatter, but by a cry of astonishment.

“By my beard, it’s him!”, somebody yelled in their back. Thorin turned around to see a dwarf with a noticeable moustache and an even more noticeable hat who rushed towards them. “The hobbit who bought boots!”, he exclaimed and pointed towards Bilbo.

The hobbit turned red, but he tried to overact his embarrassment. “Master Bofur”, he said politely, “what a pleasant surprise to meet you again. Is your cousin here as well – Bifur, right?”

Bofur nodded and grinned at him. “I told you of him, remember?”, he turned to the other dwarves. “Interested in travelling, _and_ buying boots. I hope they were useful to you as a … a reference, it was, right? Although you’ve read your portents wrong, I’m afraid.” A grey-haired dwarf who held a trumpet to his ear looked at the hobbit with new interest, Thorin noticed. “It wasn’t a long winter, after all.”

Bofur kept speaking to Bilbo as if he was an old friend, and the other dwarves relaxed noticeably. They introduced themselves, and Thorin hoped that he wouldn’t mix up the bunch of new names: Fíli and Kíli, Nori, Dori and Ori, Óin and Glóin, and there were more dwarves who weren’t seated around the fire right now.

 “What brings you out of your Shire, Mister Baggins? Are you travelling to Dale as well?”, Bofur wanted to know.

“If you’re going to Dale, you could join us!”, Kíli suggested merrily; he was clearly excited at the prospect of a hobbit – a hobbit! – being their travelling companion. The faces of his brother and the young Ori beamed as well. “That is, if you’re not in a hurry. You see, we’re going to Khazad-dûm at first, and we’ll also visit the Beornings on our way –”

“Will you stop blundering out our whole travel route to them?”, Dwalin grumbled. “We are no travelling circus, and they’re strangers –”

“It’s amusing to hear such words from you”, a new voice – a female one – remarked. “After all, it was you and your brother who brought those strangers to our camp.” A dwarf woman stepped towards the fire; she crossed the arms in front of her chest as she watched them with a wry smile. Thorin could tell at once that she was important amongst the dwarves. Her clothes in different hues of blue were functional, but nonetheless of high quality, and jewels shone on her fingers and around her neck. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, was pinned-up, and her beard was carefully braided. A thin necklace was woven into her hair, and a single gem dangled from it. It rested upon her forehead and was dark blue, just like the eyes that studied them.

“Dís, at your service”, she eventually said.

Dís? The name irritated Thorin, but he tried to keep his features under control for her gaze still rested upon him, and she only took it away from him as Bilbo rose.

The hobbit made a bow. “I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and this is my friend Thorin. We’re very grateful for your hospitability, Lady Dís.”

She laughed merrily. “You’ve got nice manners, Mister Baggins, but you don’t have to refer to me as a lady. We’re simple merchants from the Blue Mountains.” She seemed to be amused by the hobbit’s politeness nonetheless, but a shadow crossed her face as she spoke on. “Balin told me what happened in the _Prancing Pony_. You were lucky that he and Dwalin went there to talk with the innkeeper.” Thorin remembered the cold dread he had felt when the robber had grasped the phial, and he could only agree with her. “I think it would be wise indeed if you left the village with our company to make sure the robbers won’t follow you.”

Kíli opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again as Dís made a movement with her hands. Thorin recognized it as a gesture from the _iglishmêk_ , the sign language, but it was too quick for him to grasp.

“Thank you very much for your kind offer”, Bilbo answered. “We’ll gladly accept it.”

Dís clapped her hands. “Well, that’s settled. Let’s eat up and get ready to move!”

Most of the dwarves raised whereas Ori stayed to clear up. A tubby dwarf with ginger hair came to help him. Bilbo thanked him for the excellent food, and the dwarf introduced himself with a wide grin as Bombur, the owner of the food stall.

The dwarves were well attuned to each other. At first they seemed to move around without any plan, but soon it became clear that everyone had a task. Supplies were gathered and stored away, ponies were harnessed to the carts, and Thorin and Bilbo did their best to find a place where they wouldn’t get into anybody’s way.

“Are you okay with this?”, Bilbo whispered despite the racket the merchants caused. “To travel with dwarves, I mean.”

“I am”, Thorin answered. He bit back a chuckle; Fíli had almost stumbled about his own feet as he had tried to lead one of the ponies to a cart and to stare at the hobbit at the same time. “And I get the impression that they will not notice that I am here at all. They seem to be far more interested in you, Bilbo.”

He laughed. “One could almost think they’ve never seen a hobbit before!

Thorin quickly got the impression that Bilbo was probably right. The dwarves wanted to follow the Greenway south, but the last houses of Bree were hardly behind them when the youngest of the dwarves joined them. Some of the other merchants sat on the coach boxes and steered the ponies, but Fíli and his brother Kíli as well as Ori soon walked next to them. Kíli was the most curious of them, it seemed, and he began to pelt Bilbo with questions. He had countless of them and wanted to know how hobbits lived, if it was true that they didn’t grow beards, and if they really ate seven meals a day.

Bilbo answered them with good humour, and Thorin was glad that he was such pleasant and eloquent company. He would have found it difficult to answer so many questions by himself. He wasn’t used to people being interested in him – not as a djinn, but as a person. He had learned to open up to Bilbo, and he didn’t think that there was any topic he couldn’t talk about with the hobbit, but it had taken time and effort for him to do so.

Although he kept silent for most of the time, he thought listening to the dwarves very enjoyable. Their curiosity seemed to know no limits, and not even a reminder from Dís that they were the merchant’s guests could stop the young dwarves for long. Kíli answered her call with a dutiful “yes, _amad_ ” only to continue questioning Bilbo about the way hobbit holes were constructed.

They did not leave all the talking to Bilbo, though, but told them about their own lives as well. They lived in a great dwelling of the dwarves in the Ered Luin, but most of them had been to many countries to sell their goods. And fine goods they were: Dís sold beautiful jewellery, crafted by herself and her sons; Bofur and his cousin offered homewares, although Bifur’s specialty were mechanical toys; Óin was an apothecary, and his brother Glóin – together with Balin – managed the company’s financial matters; Bombur was an apt cook; Dori was a skilled tailor, and his brothers Ori and Nori helped him – although Nori preferred to wrangle money off gullible people with games of chance, much to his older brother’s dismay; and Dwalin’s main task seemed to get Nori out of trouble, and Fíli and Kíli at that.

Most of the merchants were widely travelled, but it was the first journey for Fíli, Kíli, and Ori. They had never been to Dale before, and they were very proud to be considered old enough. Glóin’s son, Gimli, was still accounted too young for such a long journey, and had to stay in the Blue Mountains; his father seemed to be half sad, half relieved that Gimli hadn’t joined them.

Affected by the light-hearted way of the youngest dwarves, the others warmed up to their guests as well, and told them more about their home in the Ered Luin, but also about the wonders that awaited them in Dale: people from all countries of Middle Earth, selling their goods, delicious food, music and songs. Thorin listened to them with fascination, and he hardly noticed how the sun rose and sank again. He was almost surprised as Dís ordered them to stop for this day and to set up their camp.

Like in the morning, the members of the company moved as if they had done this hundreds and hundreds of times, and Bilbo and Thorin stepped back so they wouldn’t get in their way.

“And I always thought dwarves were secretive”, Bilbo muttered to him. “But they’re treating us as if we’re already members of their company.” He smiled at Bombur who placed a big copper kettle over the cooking fire. “What do you think of them?”

“They are a merry gathering”, Thorin answered. “I enjoy their company. And the fair in Dale … It sounds fascinating, do you agree?”

“I do. And I think we’ve finally got a destination.” Bilbo smiled at him. “Dale. We’re going to Dale.”


	10. Oakenshield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company finally reaches Khazad-dûm, and Bilbo and Thorin get the chance to explore the city Moreover, they hear stories about its history which is closely connected with the history of Erebor - and what starts with a song leads to an unexpected story about the fall of Erebor, a story that Thorin has never heard before ...

Something was different today.

Bilbo, Thorin, and the merchants had followed the Greenway south for several days. The road around Bree wasn’t much used and had thus been grass-grown for many leagues – hence its name –, and the company had only made little progress. Time had passed quickly nonetheless: Fíli and Kíli had told them about the pranks they had played the other dwarves back in the Blue Mountains, Bombur and Bilbo had exchanged recipes, and Balin and Nori seemed to have an endless supply of tales – although Nori only told his stories when the youngest members of the company weren’t around and Dori wouldn’t scowl at him.

Eventually they had left the Barrow-downs and the South Downs that lined the Greenway behind them. Bilbo had been glad for it: He hadn’t confessed it, but Thorin could tell that the sight of the low hills – and the scary stories it evoked – had made him nervous.

The company had left the Greenway shortly before Tharbad. They had been able to see the ruins of the once great fortified town in the distance, and Ori had shown that he was a true scholar: He had told them about Tharbad’s history, about its rise after the founding of Gondor and Arnor in the Second Age, and about its decline after the Great Plague and the floods that had followed the Fell Winter of the Third Age, and he had listened eagerly to Bilbo telling him about an ancient settlement of hobbits in the region, he had even taken notes.

The great bridge over the Greyflood was still used, but the dwarves had taken other fords to cross the sluggish waters. They were travelling east now, towards the gates of Khazad-dûm. They still had some way to go there, but today the shadows of the Misty Mountains loomed over their camp for the first time.

By now Bilbo and Thorin knew many of the tasks that had to be performed in the evening, and they helped as best as they could. Usually setting up camp was a joyful matter, accompanied by much laughter. Today, however, the dwarves were solemn. Bombur didn’t start with preparing dinner, and Bifur didn’t sit at his side while carving a toy from wood. Dori didn’t try to wipe the dust off Ori’s face, and Dwalin didn’t check his weapons. All the little habits Thorin and Bilbo had already grown accustomed to seemed to be forgotten.

Instead, the dwarves lit a bonfire, greater than their usual campfire, and gathered around it as the flames grew higher. The last light of the day still shone upon them, and the awakening fire gilded their grave eyes.

Thorin and Bilbo stayed a few steps behind them. They were curious, but they didn’t dare to raise their voices to ask a question; the whole world seemed to stand still while the dwarves waited.

And then, as the sun disappeared below the horizon, Dís began to sing. Deep and clear her voice rose in the air:

 

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To find out long-forgotten gold._

_The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

 

As he listened how the dwarves joined Dís and their combined voices rose into the air, Thorin raised his hand to place it on his heart just as the others did. It beat painfully against his chest, and yet he wouldn’t want to miss the feeling. It spoke of past and ruin, yes, but it also spoke of memory and home. It spoke of Erebor.

He swallowed thickly. He knew that the song was about his home without anyone telling him, he felt it in his blood and veins. Although the bonfire’s flames leapt high into the air now and he felt their heat on his face, his eyes stung with unshed tears as he realized that his home wasn’t forgotten. Oh, it might be a forsaken ruin, but his people, his very own people, still remembered its history. To them, Erebor was more than a name in a dusty chronicle. He could tell from the longing in their deep voices. It was the same longing he felt in his heart.

The last note of the dwarves’ song hung in the air, slowly fading, and yet it seemed louder, stronger than the crackling of the fire.

“What a beautiful song.”

Next to Thorin, Bilbo flinched as if he was startled by his own voice. A faint blush covered his cheeks as the dwarves turned away from the fire to look at him. But none of them seemed offended that he had interrupted the silence.

“It’s a very old song”, Balin explained with a friendly smile, “about one of our ancient homes, Erebor.”

“Erebor!”, Bilbo repeated reverently. Suddenly he clenched his jaw – it was a very subtle movement, but it told Thorin that the hobbit was up to something. And indeed, he said: “I’ve read some stories about it. But they’re vague, and not a single one was actually written by dwarves. Would you tell me more about Erebor?”

Thorin held his breath as Bilbo uttered his question. The hobbit was always curious to learn about history and far-away countries, but the djinn knew that there was another reason for his question: By playing the unknowing hobbit, he made sure that Thorin learned more about his own people. He had done so several times during the last days, enabling Thorin to hear stories about their lives in the Ered Luin without having him to admit that he simply didn’t know how an ordinary dwarf’s live looked like.

Although Bilbo had asked the question, it was Thorin whom Nori cast a glance at. “You have never told about Erebor? Not a single story?”

Thorin licked his lips, trying to come up with a plausible answer. Again it was Bilbo who saved him with a good-humoured laugh.

“Oh, Thorin is always a bit taciturn when it comes to dwarven history … or to himself”, he commented amiably, and he even gave him a playful slap on the arm. “He still hasn’t revealed to my why you seemed quite surprised when you heard his name! Is it a rare one? Is there a story behind it?”

The dwarves eyed Thorin, but he relaxed significantly as he saw the different states of amusement on their faces. “I am … simply not a good story-teller”, he explained lamely.

Nori shrugged, but his brother Dori stopped him from adding anything: “Maybe it would be wise to save those stories until we’re in Khazad-dûm? It would seem appropriate to me.”

“That’s a good idea”, Balin agreed, and Ori nodded as well. “You see, laddie, the histories of Khazad-dûm and Erebor are closely connected. And as atmospheric as telling stories at the fire is … I think you will understand as soon as we reach Khazad-dûm.”

“I’m looking forward to it”, Bilbo said with a smile. He cast a glance at Thorin as the dwarves began to set up their camp; now they were loud and merry as usual.

“Thank you”, Thorin told him quietly as the hobbit walked past him to join Bombur in his preparations for dinner. During the last days, they had also tried how far they could move away from each other. It had turned out that they could walk around rather freely, and that the spell didn’t affect them if Bilbo was at the first caravan while Thorin walked next to the last. They stayed close to each other nonetheless, and the djinn was glad for it. It would feel strange to be separated from Bilbo after he had grown accustomed to his closeness.

“It’s a bit too early to thank me”, Bilbo answered wryly. “After all, you have to exercise patience until we are in Khazad-dûm.”

“I was born in the First Age. I think I can bear a few more days.”

“And yet your eyes gleam like a child’s on the day before its birthday”, the hobbit teased. “Come, help me and Bombur with the food. There’s nothing better to pass the waiting time than work, my mother always said.”

 

***

 

Despite his own words, Thorin was so excited to learn more about Erebor and Khazad-dûm that he dreamed of his ancient home. In his sleep, he wandered through the vast halls of his youth, ran his hands along the solid stone of the mines, and stood at the highest pinnacle of the Lonely Mountain to gaze up into the star-lit sky. But he roamed about alone, and after waking up he felt an uneasiness that wouldn’t pass from him.

But then they saw the first signs of dwarven architecture.

The company reached a well-maintained road. The paving-stones seemed old, but not forsaken; they weren’t thick with moss or cracked. The road ran along a river – it was called the Sirannon, Ori told them, and it ran out from the feet of the cliffs near the entrance to Khazad-dûm. Fíli and Kíli showed more interest in the Stair Falls, the cascades that gushed down a low cliff with a broken and jagged top.

“Just go already”, Dís told her sons as they looked longingly at the Stair Falls. She had hardly finished speaking when they stormed away with cries of excitement and dragged Ori with them. “There is a flight of steps cut in the rock next to the falls”, Dís explained to Thorin and Bilbo. “Climbing up there is a little adventure, and the boys … well, they’re boys. We will take the main road with our caravans – it climbs up with several loops to the door. It isn’t that exciting, of course. So, if you aren’t afraid of getting splashed …” She winked at them.

“And you _aren’t_ afraid of getting splashed, are you, Master Baggins?”, Kíli shouted back to them.

Bilbo accepted the challenge by rolling up his shirt sleeves. “We’ll see who’ll get splashed”, he muttered before casting a glance at Thorin. “I could do with some reinforcements.”

“Against children?”, the djinn teased, but followed him willingly.

“Children in the reckoning of the dwarves, mind you. But they are all older than I am!”

“So you are expecting the by far oldest of the dwarves to support you?”

“If he is strong like a dwarf in his prime, yes.”

They quickly reached the foot of the stair. The dwarves were already on their way up; they moved sure-footed on the broad steps. Bilbo, however, was a bit slower and set his feet carefully on the rocky steps although they weren’t slippery.

“Hurry up, Master Baggins!”, Kíli called. “Don’t worry about tripping – I bet Thorin will gladly catch you if that should happen!”

The hobbit muttered something inaudible beneath his breath, but maintained his pace until they reached a broad platform. The cascade was very close now, and they could reach the water if they stretched their hands above a handrail. It was a warm day, and both of them used this chance to quench their thirst – not quick enough for the adventurous young dwarves, it seemed. They had already been further up, but now they returned to them with much noise.

Bilbo ignored their approach. Calmly he formed a bowl with his hands, filled it with water and turned to offer it to Thorin. He winked at him. “Play along”, he whispered.

The djinn bowed over his hands as if to drink. As he glanced up, though, he saw the mischievous twinkle in the hobbit’s eyes.

“Slugs!”, Kíli teased them when he reached the platform together with Fíli and Ori.

Bilbo chose exactly this moment to take a step aside and throw the water at Kíli.

It wasn’t a big threat – the hobbit’s hands were small, and some of the water had already dropped to the ground. Moreover, the young dwarf had quick reflexes. He ducked, and most of the water hit his brother instead.

“Oh”, Bilbo said.

“I thought you could aim better”, Kíli commented with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you tell us about your skill at conkers? Or –” Whatever he had wanted to say, all that came over his lips was a shriek as he was hit by a splash of water. He gasped and turned to look at Ori who stood right behind him, an empty waterskin in his hands. He had moved so silently that the brothers hadn’t even noticed him.

“Nori taught me how to be stealthy”, he declared, his chest swollen with pride.

“Looks like I’ve got to avenge myself twice”, Kíli mumbled. He dashed towards the fall, his brother on his heels, while the others took the chance to retreat up to the next platform. Ori quickly armed himself by refilling his waterskin while Bilbo simply took shelter behind Thorin’s broad frame.

“I am not your shield”, he protested with a chuckle.

“Now you are.” He peeked over Thorin’s shoulder to watch Fíli’s and Kíli’s approach. He brought his lips closer to Thorin’s ear and whispered: “Or do I have to wish for your protection?”

“It would be the meanest wish I ever had to fulfil”, he replied laughingly and tried to move Bilbo in front of himself to be protected from the upcoming assault.

It were four soggy dwarves and a drenched hobbit that finally reached the head of the stairs. They stood on the level ground of a valley now, and opposite of them was the door to Khazad-dûm. Thorin was surprised to see it open, and he wondered how long their way up the stairs had taken when he noticed that the other dwarves were already waiting for them.

Dís stood at the door and talked to the guards while the first caravans passed it. She shook her head in amusement at the bedraggled state of her sons, and she laughed when she saw that Thorin and Bilbo didn’t look any better.

“And I thought you could hardly wait to enter Khazad-dûm”, she remarked as they approached. Then she placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and turned him towards the two guards. “This is Master Baggins whom I told you about.”

“A halfling”, one of the guards, a dwarf with a forked brown beard wondered.

“Hobbit”, Thorin corrected him, and Bilbo looked at him with a satisfied grin. “They prefer to be called ‘hobbits’”.

“Beg your pardon”, the other guard, older than his comrade, said. “But we don’t see many of your folk at our gates, and a half– I mean, a hobbit travelling with Lady Dís and her company is quite a surprise.”

The guard with the forked beard eyed Bilbo rather suspiciously, but before he could express any doubts, Dís appeased him: “Don’t worry, I’ll vouch for him.”

He stopped frowning at once, and Thorin wondered if Dís was really just a simple merchant. The way the guards bowed to her reminded him of the way Erebor’s guards had bowed to their prince. Maybe she was a noblewoman after all.

All such musings vanished, however, as they finally entered Khazad-dûm, the greatest dwarf kingdom of Middle-Earth.

Thorin felt strangely at home as soon as he stepped into the realm beneath the Misty Mountains. It couldn’t be compared with his memories of Erebor’s green marble, and it wasn’t the sense of home he connected with Bag End either. But the grey stone that surrounded him felt like an embrace to him, warm and protective.

His gaze was drawn towards the impressive staircase in front of them. It was lit by lanterns, but empty. Thorin’s heart did a jump at the prospect of climbing it, of walking amongst his own folk through one of their dwellings.

Their company, however, turned right. They followed a passage that was broad enough for two, probably even three caravans abreast. The walls didn’t look as spectacular as in the entrance hall, but they were carefully polished and decorated with runes. Thorin thought he recognized some of the patterns, and he strode close enough to the wall to graze them with his fingers. He could also hear the distant sound of chatter, and as he tilted his head back he saw a true maze of stair cases and galleries above them. Beams of light fell into the mountain through hidden shafts.

“Khazad-dûm has seven deeps which lead deeper down the surface”, Ori explained after he had recollected himself. It was his first trip to the city as well, and he was clearly impressed to finally see what he only knew from his books so far. “And there are seven levels which rise above the ground. There are also paths for merchants like us who want to cross Khazad-dûm with their ponies and caravans.”

“But you will see more than those paths”, Dori promised them. “We’ll head for the higher levels soon.”

Despite his promise, they stayed on the merchant’s path for a long time. It was already late afternoon when they reached the stables, a hall where they could leave their ponies and caravans. Some dwarves were bustling about, and they quickly unharnessed the animals and led them away to water and feed them. Bilbo slipped one of them an apple he had carried in his pocket – probably for Myrtle, Thorin guessed, as the hobbit had grown quite fond of the pony.

Balin exchanged some friendly words with the stable master – he seemed to be an old acquaintance –, and Kíli and Ori stepped nervously from one foot on the other while they waited. Fíli tried his best to appear composed, but it was clear that he couldn’t wait to explore the city as well.

But eventually all payments were settled, and the company made their way up a spiral staircase. Thorin was just as excited as the boys, and Bilbo’s pace was quick as well although the steps were almost too big for him. The stairs led them to a niche, but it only took a few more paces and they stood in a vast hall in the heart of Khazad-dûm.

Countless impressions crashed down at Thorin at once. He stared in wonder at the ever-present grey stone. Inlays made of precious gems shone in the light of many lamps and torches, and mosaics and tapestries told of the city’s history. Columns, masterly hewn from the rock, rose on both side of the halls and formed a dome high above their heads. There was a gallery just beneath it, and if Thorin looked closely he could see people walking around up there.

The floor of the hall was bustling with dwarves as well. The djinn caught glimpses of artfully braided hair, fine fabrics, of gold and silver and gems. He noticed whiffs of perfume as the dwarves walked past him, and the scents mingled with the fragrances of leather and wool, food and ale, and more things he couldn’t distinguish yet. It was dizzying, and he was glad that he could follow the other merchants without having to pay much attention to their path.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Bilbo’s voice was quiet amidst the hustle that surrounded them. The hobbit was as enthralled as he was, and Thorin remembered that he didn’t have to cope with those new impressions all by himself. Everything here was new to Bilbo as well, and they could share this experience.

Still, he only managed a nod in response.

They made towards a building that was integrated in the rock face. It had two levels, and light seeped through windows of stained glass. They looked fragile in comparison to the stone, and Thorin stopped to have a closer look at them.

“They’re beautiful from the inside as well, you know”, Bofur teased. “We’ll stay at this inn for a few days, so you’ll have enough time to admire them.” Only now the djinn noticed the sign above the half-opened door, it showed a crown with a single star above it.

“So we won’t continue tomorrow already?”, Bilbo asked.

“We’ve got some business to do, and I think all of us can do with a short rest as well”, Balin explained. “Khazad-dûm is a great dwelling, and it will take us a few days to reach the eastern side of the Misty Mountains anyway. We will stop in different parts of the city, and you will get the chance to explore them.” He smiled at them. “You can start right away – well, almost. I imagine you don’t want to drag your backpacks along.”

He was right, and Thorin and Bilbo only stayed at the inn long enough to leave their baggage. The merchants had the second floor for themselves, there was a common room and several bed chambers that would accommodate all of them.

For now it was only the two of them who went to explore the city. Dís wanted to visit some relatives, and she was adamant that her sons joined her before roaming about the halls. The other dwarves had family and friends in Khazad-dûm they wanted to see as well.

Bilbo’s and Thorin’s first destination was the high gallery. On their way up they passed many shops. Most of them were booths, hewn into the rock, and both of them marvelled at the wide range of goods they offered. The dwarves sold precious jewellery, fabrics and clothes, tools and household items, toys and books, and there were food stalls and tearooms and small pubs as well. It was already dark outside, but the passages were as lively as before.

The stone cupola was even more impressive at short distance. Dozens and dozens of stars were hewn into it, and the inlaid mithril shone brightly. They recognized many stellar constellations they had gazed at during their journey under the open sky.

“How beautiful”, Bilbo whispered.

“Dori has told me that there are more star domes throughout the city. One in Khazad-dûm’s eastern part has stars of amber”, Thorin said quietly. “I can imagine that they … look like fireflies.” The sentence hung in the air, and his grip around the railing tightened.

Bilbo kept his eyes on the ceiling, but a gentle smile played around his lips. “I would love to see them.”

They stayed long up there and watched the artificial stars, but also the dwarves on the levels beneath them. Eventually they wandered down again, and they moved aimlessly through an endless number of chambers, passages, and halls. Whenever they didn’t know where to head next to, they found a friendly dwarf who would tell them about a place they shouldn’t miss. The inhabitants of Khazad-dûm were very proud of their home, and they answered all their questions willingly. Most of them were fascinated to meet a travelling hobbit, and they had some special recommendations where they should eat or drink something.

It was one of those recommendations that led them into a smaller chamber. It was only small in comparison to the halls they had seen before, Thorin had the impression that nothing in Khazad-dûm could actually be described as small. There was a fountain in its centre, and on its top rose the statue of a dwarven warrior, clad in regal armour. Some market stalls gathered around it, and the delicious smells in the air reminded them how hungry they were. Even Bilbo – who took mealtimes as serious as any hobbit – had forgotten his stomach about his excitement. But now they bought some meat pies and ale and sat down at the edge of the fountain to enjoy their treats.

“Are you alright?”, Bilbo asked when they had finished their meal. “I mean, a lot of things have crashed down on you today …”

Thorin took the mug he offered him. “You can say that again”, he mumbled before taking a sip. “But I am fine. Even better than fine, I think. Khazad-dûm is amazing.”

“It is”, Bilbo agreed. “Ori said that the eastern parts should even be more beautiful since they’re older.”

“Khazad-dûm had a different name when I was young, it was hardly more than a mine back then. But its mithril veins attracted many dwarves, and the dwelling was growing fast.” Finally Thorin found the words to talk about everything they had seen so far, and Bilbo shared his own thoughts and impressions eagerly with him.

They were so absorbed in their talk that they only noticed Dís when she stood almost in front of them.

Bilbo rose and made a bow. “I haven’t thanked you for vouching for me yet –”, he began, but the dwarrowdam stopped him from continuing.

“Please, Bilbo, stay seated. It was a mere formality, really.” The hobbit sat down again, and Dís’ gaze wandered over the statue. “You have chosen a good place to hear more about Khazad-dûm’s history”, she said. “Should I tell you something about it, or would that be too much for one day?”

“I’d love to hear more about the city”, Bilbo replied after a short glance at Thorin. “So please, go on.”

She laughed. “You’re way too curious for a hobbit, Master Baggins! But I like that. You see, Khazad-dûm is an ancient city. Its foundation goes back into the First Age although it was only a small mine back then. Most of our people lived far in the east, in Erebor.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at the statue. “Erebor, our ancient home … It was lost as the dragon Smaug attacked the mountain, and it remains lost. The dragon is long gone, but its stench, it is said, still fouls the air. No dwarf will dare to enter the mountain as long as the dragon’s memory lingers there. But in all these centuries we haven’t forgotten our home …”

“Your song”, Thorin said quietly. “I could feel your longing in it.”

Dís eyed him thoughtfully. “You feel the same, don’t you? All dwarves do. We live our lives in plenty all over Middle-Earth, and yet we still sing of Erebor and long for it. In some dwarves the longing is stronger than in others, but we all feel it.” She coughed slightly. “But be that as it is … After the dragon attacked Erebor, our people wandered the wilderness. Many had perished in the dragon’s flames, and the exile took its toll as well. It were times of danger, the shadow of evil darkened the lands, and orcs lurked everywhere. They had invaded the small dwelling that once would be Khazad-dûm, but King Thrór was determined to take it back for his people.”

King Thrór. Thorin flinched at the name. His grandfather. His grandfather had survived Smaug’s attack. He felt such a relief as if it had only been yesterday that Thrór had risen from his throne to walk towards his little grandson, to gather him in his arms and hold him up in the air laughingly …

“They fought against the orcs in the Dimrill Dale, in Azanulbizar, and finally drove them out of the Misty Mountains”, Dís continued in her soft voice. “The quest had been a success, but the price had been high. The king fell, and his son Thraín went missing. But Thraín’s son Frerin survived, and he became the first Lord of Khazad-dûm.”

Thorin’s stomach turned into an icy lump. His grandfather … His father … He had lost them so many centuries ago on the day he had been turned into a djinn. And yet to learn of their fate felt like a fresh, deep wound. Not even Bilbo’s small hand on his back offered him much comfort.

And Frerin, his little brother, too small to even reach the display of the sweet stores in Erebor’s market hall … Wielding a sword, and bearing a crown? It was difficult to imagine him like that. He wondered what had happened to his grandmother, his mother … his sister. Thorin glanced up at Dís, the woman who bore the same name as his tiny sister. Had she been at Frerin’s side? To help him, to offer him support and comfort?

“Khazad-dûm grew and prospered under his rule. Our number increased again, and the days of exile and hardship became a mere memory. But after some years, King Frerin’s grandson took a group of dwarves to leave Khazad-dûm and explore the lands and mountains to the west. Many of them settled in the Blue Mountains, some in the already existing dwellings of Belegost and Nogrod, but some founded new dwellings as well. My own ancestors were amongst the dwarves who accompanied the king’s grandson, and today we still live in the Blue Mountains.”

“So you’re kind of nobility after all”, Bilbo said with a smile. He sounded a touch too cheerful, but Thorin was glad that he tried to keep the conversation going and to give him some time to work through everything he had heard.

“It is true that my family can trace their lineage back to Erebor. But this isn’t uncommon amongst dwarves, and it doesn’t make me a noblewoman. I’m simply a merchant, although one with a very good reputation.” She looked at Thorin. “You’ve got ancestors from Erebor as well, right?”

He blinked, trying to see her properly instead of imagining his little brother in kingly robes. “Yes”, he eventually said in a quiet voice. After all, it wasn’t a lie.

Dís nodded as if she hadn’t expected anything else. “Just as I thought. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been named after him.” She pointed at the statue behind them, and both Bilbo and Thorin turned to look at it. “After Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Oakenshield”, Bilbo repeated and stood up to have a better view. He even walked around the fountain to look at it from all angles. “Would you be so kind and tell me his story, Dís?”

Thorin rose as well. An eerie feeling took hold of him as he studied the figure. The statue seemed very old, and time had worn away many intricacies. He could make out some details nonetheless – the braids in the long hair, the pieces of regal armour, the roughly carved wooden shield in its hand. He shivered at the sight.

“Thorin Oakenshield”, Dís began, not noticing his unease, “was the older brother of King Frerin, a prince of Erebor.” Bilbo’s eyes widened at this beginning. “When the dragon attacked Erebor, Prince Thorin stood against him. The assault came out of nowhere, he wasn’t even properly armed … But that didn’t stop him. In passing he took an oaken branch from a workbench, only half carved into a shield, and confronted the dragon.” Dís looked at the statue, and fondness stood on her face. “The last stand of Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t futile. It might have been a mere distraction for the dragon, but that was all our people needed. His sacrifice gave many of them the chance to flee. My boys love the story of Thorin Oakenshield, you see.”

She continued to speak, but Thorin only listened half-heartedly. He felt strangely calm now, as if it was someone else she talked about, a mere stranger, not him. He looked at the statue with the same distanced interest. The armour reminded him slightly of the ones of Erebor’s royal guards indeed, but he hadn’t worn any armour that day, only his robes. And his shield … It hadn’t been round, but oblong, still more of a branch than an actual shield. He didn’t even know if it had perished. The only thing that was vivid in his memory was the heat … the heat and the piercing, merciless eyes. He swallowed. And then that deep, grumbling voice …

He just stood there, amidst Khazad-dûm, looked at a statue of himself, and all he saw was the green marble of Erebor, lit by dragon-fire.

But then there was another sensation – not scorching heat, but a soft warmth. Thorin blinked and looked down to see that Bilbo’s hand had wrapped around his. Dís was nowhere to be seen; he hadn’t even noticed that she had disappeared. Most merchants seemed to have done the same as it was quiet in the hall by now.

“You have never told me”, the hobbit said gently, “that you’re a hero.”

A harsh laugh burst out from the djinn. “I am no hero. I did not know what I did back then, and I did not know that I could save anyone with such a foolish act … for I knew that it was foolish, even amidst my fear. I am no hero, no.” The last sentence sounded like a sob to his own ears.

There was silence. Thorin shut his eyes, he didn’t want to see this ridiculous statue anymore.

Eventually Bilbo spoke again. “You’re a hero to your people.”

Thorin inhaled sharply, and when he let out a deep sigh it was as if he let go of any strength that was left in him as well. He leaned slightly against Bilbo’s small frame, and the hobbit comforted him wordlessly, just by being close, until Thorin felt ready to return to their inn.

 

***

 

“It’s hard to believe you haven’t done this all your life.”

Bilbo’s eyes followed the movement of Thorin’s fingers, watched them choosing from a number of different tools without hesitation and slowly turning a piece of clay into a mould for an intricate figurine.

“You are flattering me”, Thorin replied, but secretly he was very pleased by Bilbo’s comment. It was true that he hadn’t worked with metal and gems since he had been young, but even back then he had hardly spent time in the forges. While all forms of crafting were considered a decent pastime amongst dwarves, there were many other occupations for a prince. Moreover, Thorin had been too young for most of the strenuous works in the forges. He had enjoyed to work with gems in his spare leisure time, though, and he had often carved precious stones while sitting together with his family. You needed a sure hand, patience, and imagination to turn a gem into the complex figure of a raven or a flower, and he had always delighted in watching this transformation.

Thorin had purchased some tools and supplies at one of Khazad-dûm’s markets. He had paid with silver coins from Bilbo’s first wish – the hobbit had insisted that it was _their_ money, and Thorin had given up discussing such matters with him long ago.

At first he had carved little figures out of wood. Bifur had helped him and shown him some techniques, and as Thorin had grown more confident he had begun to work with metals, still soft and warm from the fire of the forges. There were many small forges and ateliers in Khazad-dûm for public use; most of them had time tables where you could sign up.

Thorin had spent a lot of time with his craft, sometimes in such ateliers, sometimes in the shared rooms of the company, but always in Bilbo’s presence. Thorin had told him stories when they were alone, stories about his youth in Erebor, about his family. He had felt strangely vulnerable as the first words about his little siblings had found their way over his lips, but it had passed quickly. If there was anybody Thorin could entrust his heart to, it was Bilbo.

At first he had tried to isolate himself and to be left alone with his thoughts, but Bilbo wouldn’t hear anything of such ‘brooding’, as he called it. And truly, Thorin had found that talking about his past made everything he had heard easier to bear, especially with such an understanding listener.

This evening they were in an atelier again. They were in the oldest part of Khazad-dûm now, on the eastern side. Glóin had told them that they would leave the city tomorrow.

“Are you really okay with this?”, Thorin asked without taking his eyes off the mould. “To stay here on our last evening in Khazad-dûm? Should we not do something special?”

“I am fine”, Bilbo assured him. “It’s quite comfortable. Besides, I want to hear the story you hinted at yesterday – the one about your sister’s first birthday.”

“I remember that day very well.” The dwarf smiled to himself. “I was really excited, but Frerin surpassed me by far! He wanted to prove that he was a good brother to our tiny sister, and this was the perfect occasion …”

Bilbo listened attentively, but Thorin wasn’t even half-way through his story when there was a knock at the door-frame. The heavy door itself stood open, but Dori was polite enough not to enter without being invited.

“I’m here to carry off Master Baggins”, he declared with a smile. “And _only_ Master Baggins”, he added as he saw that Thorin already rose.

Bilbo shot a desperate glance at Thorin. “I”, he began.

Dori, however, already continued: “It’s the … matter I and our hobbit talked about a few days ago. I hope you don’t mind, Thorin, but your presence would spoil the surprise.” He winked at the hobbit. “And you don’t want that, do you?”

Bilbo slouched his shoulders, and resignation stood on his face. “Of course not”, he mumbled. “I wish to join you alone.”

Thorin nodded slightly to show him that it was alright. He hadn’t worked his magic for a long time by now, but it was so familiar to him that it was almost like taking a breath.

Bilbo looked quite miserable, and he even mouthed a wordless apology as he went with Dori. Thorin showed him a smile. Bilbo’s determination not to treat him like a djinn was endearing. Thorin, however, didn’t mind using his powers in such a situation; he had already expected that such a thing might happen on their journey.

And, he thought, he wouldn’t mind if Bilbo uttered more wishes again. The hobbit had done so much for him, fulfilling his wishes was the least he could do.

Thorin looked at the supplies that were scattered around the workbench. Maybe … maybe he could begin with a first step to thank Bilbo by crafting something for him. His cheeks turned hot at this thought – crafting a gift for someone had been a very important, significant act amongst the dwarves of Erebor, and he got the impression that this hadn’t changed. But Bilbo definitely deserved a little gift.

Determined he reached for his tools, and suddenly it felt as if no time had passed at all since he had crafted little trinkets in the chambers of his family. The weight of the chisel was familiar in his hands, he stirred the fire of the portable forge without a moment of hesitation, and the glimmer of molten copper was delightful to his eyes. He almost thought to hear the soft music of his mother’s harp, the mumbled discussions between his grandfather and his father about the king’s business, and Frerin’s laughter as he watched their sleeping sister.

Absorbed in his work, Thorin forgot everything about him, and he only looked up when there was a shy knock at the doorframe. With a quick sweep of his hand, the half-finished trinket disappeared in the djinn’s pocket. He almost forgot about it, though, as he looked up to see Bilbo.

The hobbit stood in the entrance of the forge, and now Thorin understood what Dori’s talk about a surprise had meant. The hobbit was clad in new garments. They were of dwarven style, but they fit his size and frame perfectly. The tunic was of a linden green and had golden embroideries; the colours matched the cream shirt and the dark pants. Bilbo didn’t wear any jewellery, Thorin noticed, not even a clasp. He looked very festive, though … and very lovely.

“You”, Thorin began, but his mouth went dry. “Those clothes …”, he tried once more, but again unable to continue. Finally he settled on a simple but honest: “You look beautiful.”

Bilbo granted him a shy smile. “Thank you”, he said and turned around to show his new garments. “I was afraid it would be a bit too much, but Dori didn’t listen to my objections. So … Do you think it’s a … nice surprise?”, he asked sheepishly.

“I do”, Thorin answered honestly, and the hobbit’s smile widened.

“Dori has so many fabrics in his caravan!”, he said. “I asked him if I could purchase some, and he even promised me some patterns – that means I can make some proper dwarven clothes for you as well!”

Bilbo almost bounced with excitement, and Thorin once more observed how lovely he looked. The clothes were very becoming on him, but even with worn clothes the hobbit would be a sight to behold, with his wonderful smile and twinkling eyes.

“You look very festive”, Thorin told him. “May I … ask you out? We could go to the food market, get some treats and find a nice place to enjoy them …” _Just_ _beneath the firefly dome, maybe_ , he thought. _I’d love to see you under its light again._

“I would like that very much”, Bilbo answered gently.

Thorin returned the smile. “Can we stop at our inn first?”, he asked. “I have to change my dirty clothes. I would be ashamed to wear them when you are so fetching next to me!”

When he got up he felt for the trinket in his pocket again. What a pity it wasn’t finished yet.


	11. Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets the impression that Bilbo wants to tell him something important. But since they're travelling with a company of dwarves, they don't have many quiet moments for themselves - not even atop the Carrock ...

When the company reached the Eastern side of the Misty Mountains they were as solemn as the first time they had camped in their shadows in Eregion. For now they crossed the Dimrill Dale, Azanulbizar, where the dwarves of the First Age had fought to reclaim their home and find shelter for the refugees from Erebor. Countless warriors had fallen there, and many of the merchants whispered ancient words to honour the dead. Some of the phrases were familiar to Thorin, and he spoke them under his breath, hoping that they would somehow reach his family, most of all his grandfather and his father who had fought and perished there.

The mood improved, however, as soon as Fíli – who walked at the head of the caravan and had keen eyes at that – gave a cry of excitement.

“I can see it!”, he shouted. “I can already see the lake!”

His words pulled the other dwarves out of their thoughts, and they quickened their pace. Infected by their enthusiasm, Bilbo and Thorin hurried to the ledge where Fíli was standing. At the young dwarf’s lookout point they spotted the dark water of a lake. It was long and of oval shape, and in the bright sunlight it looked like a stain of ink.

“Kheled-zâram”, Balin said. With a glance at Bilbo he added: “Or Mirrormere, as it is called in the common tongue. And there is Durin’s Stone.” He pointed to a column on the lakeshore. “It marks the spot where Durin first looked into Mirrormere. Although he did so in bright daylight he saw the reflection of stars in the water, forming a crown above his head. He took it as a sign – a good omen – and founded the dwelling beneath the mountains that fed the lake.”

“There’s a song about it, isn’t it?”, Bilbo asked. He closed his eyes and began to sing softly:

 

_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere_

_And saw a crown of stars appear_

_As gems upon a silver thread_

_Above the shadow of his head._

 

Thorin listened as if enchanted. He knew the song; it was from one of the books Bilbo had purchased from the very merchants they were travelling with right now. The both of them had read them to each other, but Bilbo had never sung it before. It was a pity, he thought, for Bilbo’s voice was beautiful, bright and clear. The hobbit didn’t falter once, but when he opened his eyes again and noticed that the dwarves were watching him he blushed.

“It seems you don’t need my lessons about dwarven history at all”, Balin chuckled. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo mumbled something that sounded like “I just read a lot” which caused Bofur to laugh and muse about curious hobbits who bought books, and boots at that – a topic that never ceased to fascinate him, it seemed.

Cheerfully the merchants began the descent towards the lake. The road was well-trodden, but in good condition, and soon they stood on the shore of Kheled-zâram. Even the dwarves who had already been there before were excited. Bifur examined the weather-beaten runes on the column, Ori made a sketch of it while Balin told him about its origin, Fíli and Kíli laughed about their mother’s story of her first look into the lake, Óin watched a flock of birds that had been startled by their approach.

Thorin in turn strolled along the lakeshore. Although tempted to cast a look into the darkness of Kheled-zâram, he kept a few steps of solid ground between him and the water. The voices of the dwarves faded in the distance without disappearing completely, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sun shone warm on his face, and the breeze carried the scent of the mountains to him. It felt familiar, even after so many centuries in which he had only seen them from afar … if he had seen them at all.

“Will you not look into the water?”

He opened his eyes to see Bilbo stepping at his side. The hobbit had his hands crossed behind his back, and he bobbed forward and back on the balls of his feet while he watched the merry gathering of dwarves.

“I am not sure if it is a good idea”, Thorin replied. “The dwarves believe that all heirs of Durin the Deathless will see his crown in the depths of Kheled-zâram. I am an heir of Durin, but at the same time …” He searched for the right words to describe his concerns, and Bilbo waited patiently until he was ready to speak on. “It was taken from me – Erebor, my birthright. To see a crown of stars above my head would feel like mockery. But if the crown does not appear … It would be a sign that I do not belong in this age either. I would not be Thorin, son of Thráin, heir of Durin, any longer. Just a djinn. I dread both possibilities.”

“Hm”. Bilbo made a thoughtful face. But suddenly he grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the lakeshore. His grip was surprisingly strong; he didn’t let go of Thorin until they stood side at side at the water.

“Balin has told me stories about Durin the Deathless”, the hobbit explained. He didn’t look into the water, but kept his gaze fixed on Thorin. The djinn, in turn, was unable to take his eyes of his earnest face. “How he wakes from his sleep to walk amongst his people again, the memories of his former lives vivid in him. But I wonder … what if Durin is not the only one to awaken again? Maybe all dwarves are like Durin, but they don’t remember their past lives. But they return. All of them. And you … and your family … They are not lost.” Bilbo hesitated, doubt stood in his eyes. He probably wondered if he was going too far in his musings, if he would insult Thorin with such thoughts about his people. But seeing that there was no anger on Thorin’s face, but amazement, he continued: “This would mean that there was a Dís in the Second Age, and now there’s one in the Third Age, the one we’re travelling with. And there was a Thrór, a Thráin, a Frerin, and, ahem … I’m sorry, I think you’ve never told me your mother’s name. And it would also mean that there is no reason why you shouldn’t belong in this age. Because there has to be a Thorin in it as well, you see?”

Bilbo’s nose twitched, and he coughed slightly. “That is, if my rambling makes any sense to you …” He averted Thorin’s gaze, but at the same time the djinn felt his hand on his back. He nudged Thorin forward, and although the hobbit’s touch was light he followed. Their shoulders brushed against each other as they bent forward to look into Mirrormere.

“Balin said Durin saw a sign, a good omen. Maybe it’s not a crown after all?”, Bilbo whispered. “At least not for you, or me … A good omen can take on many forms …”

At first Thorin didn’t see anything but ink-like water. Then he recognized the reflection of the encircling mountains, mirrored in splendid colours. There was a patch of sky as well, and amidst it – he held his breath at the sight – he saw stars, shining like jewels although the sun stood in the sky. They didn’t form a crown, though. He saw only two of them – one star sat above his own reflection, the other upon Bilbo’s brow, and the hobbit smiled. A good omen indeed …

“Thorin?” Enthralled, the dwarf watched how the lips of Bilbo’s crystal-clear reflection moved as he spoke. The hobbit’s hand slipped off his back to intertwine with his fingers instead. They were small in comparison to his, but their gentle touch was warm. Thorin wanted to look down, to see if Bilbo was really holding his hand, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the surface of the lake.

Bilbo’s reflection had lowered his eyes, and his nose twitched again as he began: “There is s-something I … wanted to tell you.” His tone, a strange mixture of determination and reluctance, made Thorin hold his breath. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I wondered –”

“Bilbo! Thorin! We’re moving on!” Dwalin’s voice was loud in the atmosphere of expectation that had surrounded the both of them. The reflection in the lake seemed to scatter as Bilbo let go of Thorin’s hand.

The hobbit sighed, but then he shrugged. “Another time”, he said quietly before returning to the company, and Thorin wondered if his words were a good omen as well.

 

***

 

The vastness of the Greenwood stretched to their right for long miles as the company travelled north. They would use the Old Forest Road to pass through it as it was the most reliable path, Glóin explained, and this route would also give them the possibility to trade with the Beornings.

The morning had greeted the travellers with thick fog, but it had lifted soon and had thus revealed a great rock, almost a hill of stone. The Beornings called it the Carrock, Ori told them.

It seemed very close, and indeed it wasn’t even afternoon when the dwarves reached its foot.

“We’ll set up camp nonetheless”, Dís decided. “It’s a good opportunity for a little rest.”

It was a cosy place indeed. There was a river with a ford of huge flat stones, and they could spot a little cave at its end. Thorin also noticed steps that were hewn into the rock, leading up to the top.

“I bet the view from up there is magnificent”, Bilbo mumbled. They shared a knowing look and grinned before the hobbit turned to wave at Balin. “We’d like to go on a little exploration tour, if you don’t mind.”

“Have fun!”, Balin told them with a broad smile that made Thorin wonder if he had just missed a joke. But Bilbo was already heading for the steps, and he dismissed the thought.

The way up was strenuous. The huge steps weren’t made for hobbits, not even dwarves, and when they eventually reached the top they were out of breath. The sight was worth the effort, though: Plains and rivers and woods stretched beneath them as far as their eyes could reach. And far, far away on the horizon they could see a single solitary peak.

“Erebor”, Thorin breathed. Thanks to Bilbo, he had already been home again, but seeing the Lonely Mountain like this, rising majestically in the distance, woke his longing again. It felt as if he had not been there for thousands of years, and somehow that was very true despite the journey they had undertaken. But he also felt a warm tingle in his chest, and he wondered how their little acorn was doing.

“A wonderful sight. And a sad one too.” Fearlessly Bilbo strode towards the ledge and sat down there, his feet dangling in the air. “The dragon has been long dead, and still the dwarves do not dare to enter the mountain. But their yearning for it is so clear … It’s such a pity.” He was silent for a moment before continuing: “I’ve been thinking about it … Maybe they would enter Erebor again if someone showed them that it is safe to do so? I mean, we know that it is, but we can’t tell them yet. What could we possibly say? That you’re a djinn, and your powers brought us there? They would just think we’ve had too much of Bofur’s special liquor. But if we would find a way to enter without magic, and return to them safely … Maybe they would begin to understand. And maybe …”

He broke off. Thorin’s heart had started to beat faster the longer the hobbit had talked, and his eyes had drifted away from Erebor and settled on Bilbo. His hair shone like copper in the afternoon sun, and Thorin wondered if it was really the vision of a lively Erebor that quickened his heartbeat.

Slowly he reached into his pocket, and his hand closed around the trinket inside of it.

“Bilbo?”

The hobbit looked up, concern written on his face as he heard Thorin’s shaky voice. The dwarf felt terribly nervous under his soft gaze, but now it was too late to back down. He took his time as he sat down next to Bilbo, trying to find the right words. They would not come to him, though, so instead he stayed silent and simply stretched his hand out. The hobbit bent over it curiously, and his lips formed an inaudible “oh”.

An earring lay on Thorin’s palm. Several fragile wires of copper twisted around each other, taking the shape of a vein. A delicate leaf dangled from it – an oak leaf.

“I began working on it in Khazad-dûm”, Thorin explained. “I have not crafted anything for a long time, as I have told you, and despite my attempts I was not sure if I could create something … decent. Something that is more than a mere exercise, but … but would make a nice present.” He decided to get to the point before he could stammer even more nonsense. “After all, I did not have a proper birthday present for you.”

Bilbo’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You played the harp for me”, he reminded him. He was still bowed over the jewellery, unable to take his eyes off, and he sounded incredulously when he asked: “This is really for me?”

“It is. Do not be shy, take it.”

The hobbit did so cautiously, and when he held up the earring to look at it Thorin was pleased to see that he had chosen the right material. The copper would still oxidise and change its colour slightly, but it matched Bilbo’s hair brilliantly. It wouldn’t stand out too strongly amongst his curls as well – a handcrafted gift was something personal and shouldn’t be seen at first sight. It was a sign of affection, not something to show off the crafter’s abilities.

“It’s so beautiful!”, Bilbo marvelled. “I can even see the leaf veins! And you made this just for me?”

Thorin smiled at the open admiration on his face. “Will you do me the honour to try it?”

Suddenly Bilbo’s smile wavered. “Oh. But I … I mean … My …” A deep blush spread over his cheeks. “My ears aren’t pierced”, he mumbled bashfully.

Thorin opened his mouth, but closed it again without uttering anything. He felt foolish – just how could he have missed that? They had spent so much time together, and he hadn’t even noticed that the hobbit never wore earrings. His gift for Bilbo was worthless! “My apologies”, he finally managed to say. “So … so this is not a proper birthday present either, I am afraid.”

He reached out to take back the earring.

Bilbo, however, closed his hand around it and rested it above his heart. A smile was on his lips again. “I haven’t got pierced ears _yet_ ”, he corrected himself. “I appreciate your gift, Thorin, with all my heart. It’s a wonderful earring, and I want to wear it. I will ask Dís for help – she sells jewellery, after all, so she knows how to pierce ears for sure. I will ask her as soon as we’re in the camp again. But”, his smile deepened, “let us stay here for a little while longer, please. It’s lovely up here.”

The dwarf nodded, unable to find any words. How did Bilbo always make him feel like this – so strong as if he could achieve everything he wanted, and at the same time so vulnerable as if a mere look from the hobbit could shatter him into pieces? He wondered about the power Bilbo held over him. It wasn’t like the curse that bound him to the hobbit as his master at all. This power was subtle, like a quiet yet irresistible call, a call he _wanted_ to listen to. It was the strongest when Bilbo smiled at him, just like now, and it took him not the least effort to smile back.

Suddenly the expression on Bilbo’s face changed. He was still smiling, but there was another quality to it now, something deeper, more serious. Slowly he inclined his head towards Thorin, causing the dwarf to hold his breath.

They were only inches apart when they heard a familiar voice: “Now that’s a sight!”

Bilbo and Thorin darted apart. They turned to see Óin entering the platform. He didn’t seem to be out of breath at all, unlike his brother who followed him. The eyes of the healer looked into the distance, on the Lonely Mountain, Thorin noticed relieved, not at them. His heart was beating like mad, and he cast a glance at Bilbo. His face was flushed, and he seemed bewildered, as if his mind hadn’t caught up with the sudden interruption yet.

Óin waved friendly at them. “The sight of Erebor never fails to amaze me. What do you think of seeing it for the first time, lads?”

Thorin cleared his throat. “Enchanting”, he answered, watching Bilbo from the corner of his eye.

Glóin, still a bit breathless, laughed. “Aye, it definitely is.”

“We come up here whenever we pass the Carrock”, Óin explained. “There’s something reassuring about looking at the Mountain and knowing that it keeps watch since the First Age, and that it will do so until the world is rebuild.”

_Like me._ The thought rose in Thorin unbidden, accompanied by a bitterness that surprised him. So far, he had reacted with indifference to his fate of being bound to Middle Earth without ever being an actual part of it. He had simply resigned to it at some point.

But he had changed. Bilbo and the dwarves of the company had changed him. The way they treated him like a friend, a being on his own, had roused him from his apathy. They cared for him, made him forget that he was a djinn, let him live his own life. And now he found that he dreaded being torn from this life into the darkness of the dragon’s curse again.

Thorin swallowed. He tried to distract himself from such gloomy thoughts by looking up into the sky. A solitary bird flew above them, not heeding Óin’s cry of excitement.

“A raven!”, he shouted.

“I think that’s a thrush”, Bilbo remarked with a smirk. “Are you hoping to see a raven, Óin? Would that be a good portent?”

“It would be indeed! You see, ravens are closely connected to Erebor …” The healer began to tell them about the birds of the Lonely Mountain, and his brother added a detail from time to time. Their talk drifted from ravens to Erebor’s famous forges, and further on to Dale and its toy market. Thorin and Bilbo listened with interest, and they had many questions of their own about their destination. The brothers in turn were obviously pleased to have such attentive listeners, and their talk continued all the way down the Carrock until they reached their camp.

It was there that Bilbo thanked them politely before grabbing Thorin’s arm and searching for Dís. The dwarves were scattered around the camp, but their leader was nowhere to be seen. Fíli, however, told them with a smile that his mother was in her caravan, and they headed directly for it.

Dís opened the door within moments after their knock, and she looked fondly at them as Bilbo explained their request.

“Of course I can do that. Shall we start right now?” A grin spread on her face. “I hope you don’t mind, Thorin, but I think your presence isn’t necessary … unless you want to spoil the surprise.”

The djinn raised his eyebrows as she used almost the same words Dori had back in Khazad-dûm before taking the hobbit to the fitting of his new clothes.

This time, however, Bilbo sided with her. He quickly leaned forward and whispered into Thorin’s ear: “I wish to join Dís alone. Do whatever you like in the meanwhile, and have fun!”

Then the hobbit turned around and entered the caravan. With a smile, Dís waved at Thorin before closing the door in front of him.

 

***

 

“So … an earring, you say?”

Dís was obviously excited about the task Bilbo had entrusted her with. She seemed to burst with enthusiasm, and while she bustled around to clear a stool for her guest, Bilbo did his best to look around without appearing too obtrusive.

He had been invited into the caravans of most of the dwarves so far – he had visited Dori and his brothers for tea, Balin had shared some of his books with him, Glóin had showed him framed pictures of his family, and Bifur had allowed him a look at his stock of mechanical and wooden toys. The greater part of the dwarves’ lives, however, took place outside. Most of them even preferred to sleep around the campfire when the nights were dry. Bilbo and Thorin did the same, and although it was really nice and adventurous Bilbo had already wondered about the dwarves’ habit – for one thing it deemed him strange to always prefer the ground to a soft bed, then again he thought the interior of their caravans very charming and cosy.

Dís’ home was no exception. It was rather cramped as there were caskets in all possible sizes, shapes, and colours – jewellery for the market in Dale. Although many of them were stored away, an even greater part seemed to be spread throughout the caravan. Bilbo’s eyes were drawn to gems in a multitude of colours, necklaces of gold, silver, and braided leather, and tools as well. The narrow bed in the cleverly constructed niche was almost lost amidst all those trinkets. Yet the room didn’t look like a mere working place or a storage. It was decorated in warm colours, there was a soft carpet beneath Bilbo’s bare feet, and he spotted pictures on the walls, books, and little figures carved from gemstones, gifts from Fíli and Kíli maybe.

“Come on, have a seat.” By now Dís had placed the stool in the middle of the room and waved him closer.

Bilbo sat down. “Thank you so much –”, he began, but the dwarrowdam interrupted him light-heartedly.

“Don’t mention it. I’m happy I can help. So, may I see your earring?”

“Here.” Bilbo had held the piece of jewellery in his hand, feeling the warm metal and its leaf shape on his skin. Now he opened his fingers and showed it to Dís. She bowed over his palm to examine it.

“What a wonderful trinket!”, she said admiringly, and Bilbo’s chest filled with pride. Fondly, he traced his thumb over the copper.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Thorin has crafted it for me.”

Dís eyed him with a smile. “Has he? I guess you’d like to wear it on your left ear, then.”

Bilbo blinked at her. “Does it make a difference if I wear it left or right?” He looked at Dís’ jewellery: She wore rings on both her hands, and silver shone on her right ear as well as on her left.

“The left side of the body”, she explained, “is the one our heart rests in. If a piece of jewellery has a special meaning to you, you should wear it close to your heart. Many dwarves do so and wear signet rings on the left side of their body, gifts or heirlooms … or tokens of courtship.”

The hobbit blinked at her again, wondering if she was jesting. But Dís’ voice held no teasing, and her face was earnest as well.

Bilbo cast his eyes down. “I don’t think Thorin considers it a token of courtship.”

“What makes you think that?”

He hesitated, wondering what he should tell her. Bilbo didn’t think that Thorin was familiar with dwarven courting rituals. He had been very young when the dragon had attacked Erebor, probably too young to be told such things already. But then again Bilbo had read stories in which nobles got engaged although they were still children, and it could be possible that Thorin had been betrothed to somebody. He had been a prince, after all, and maybe he had been taught a thing or two about courting despite his young age. However, Bilbo hoped that this wasn’t the case. What if it had been more than a formal agreement between his family and another one? If Thorin had actually liked his betrothed, it would have been another deep loss for his poor djinn. And that, Bilbo firmly told himself, was the only reason why he wished there had been no engagement. The pang of jealously that flared up within him and that made him feel so horrible had nothing to do with it.

Realizing that he still owed an answer to Dís, Bilbo coughed and began: “You see, I’m just a hobbit, and I don’t know how you dwarves express your … your affection. If Thorin really had the intention of co-courting me”, he stumbled about the word, “he would have told me about the meaning behind his gift. I mean, he can hardly expect me to figure it out by myself, right? And he wouldn’t just hope that somebody accidentally tells me either … I don’t think he considers the earring a token of courtship”, he repeated.

Dís’ voice was soft when she said: “But you would like it to be one.”

Bilbo had looked down at the earring on his palm, but now he raised his head to meet her gaze. He even managed a weak smile. “I am like an open book to you, right?”

She chuckled. “Not you alone, my dear.”

The hobbit gaped at her, but eventually his lips curled into a smile, this time a true one. “You mean …?”

“May I take your earring for a moment?”

Bilbo handed it over to her, and Dís held it close to her eye. “Every trinket tells a lot about its crafter”, she explained as she twisted it two and fro. She stayed silent during her examination, and Bilbo got fidgety on his stool while he waited.

But eventually Dís began: “I can tell that Thorin chose the metal very carefully. The colour matches your hair perfectly, and the earring will be subtle on you. You know, a piece of jewellery that is crafted for someone special, out of affection, shouldn’t be a particular eye-catcher. Its main purpose isn’t to be seen at first sight and to be admired by everybody, to boast of the crafter’s abilities.” She now held the earring under the light of a lamp. “The copper is of high quality as well, and the details …” She squinted, but when she spoke on Bilbo’s heart began to flutter in his chest. “They’re a true masterwork. Thorin must have worked on them for hours and hours.”

“Really? But he said he started working on it in Khazad-dûm, and I can’t remember seeing him crafting since we left …”

“He must have done so during the night, when you weren’t watching. He was keeping it a secret to make sure you would only see the finished piece.” Dís returned the earring to him, and she smiled fondly at Bilbo. “Let’s take the left ear, okay?”

With that, the dwarrowdam turned to a desk and got a piece of clean linen and a small bottle. Then she stepped behind Bilbo, and the sharp smell of alcohol rose into his nose as she poured it on the cloth. The hobbit literally jumped from his stool when she pressed it to his left ear.

Dís laughed. “Are we a bit sensitive, Mister Baggins?”

“Hobbit ears”, he muttered, trying to stay calm on his seat as she continued to clean his ear.

“I’ve never pierced the ears of a hobbit before”, she admitted. “But I’ll be careful.”

Bilbo closed his eyes. His nose twitched as he felt the cold metal of a needle against the sensitive skin of his ear. He took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the earring to stop himself from flinching. Dís gave him an advance warning, and the next thing he felt was a sharp pain. It only lasted for a few moments, though, before fading to a mere throbbing.

“The worst is already over”, Dís declared merrily. She went to the table again and handed Bilbo another piece of linen that smelled of chamomile. “Press this against your ear for a few minutes. It will soothe the pain.”

While Bilbo did so, she grabbed another stool and sat down opposite of him.

“May I ask you something, Bilbo? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

“What is it?”

She pointed to the piece of jewellery. “Why an oak leaf? Is there a story behind it? Something that connects you and Thorin?”

“Well, there is an oak tree growing above my home … But what connects us, actually, is an acorn. We planted one, together, and …” Bilbo fell silent; he wasn’t sure if he could find the right words to describe his feelings. He remembered the smile on Thorin’s lips vividly, as well as the fond look in his eyes, and the gentle movements of his hands. Suddenly his throat felt constricted, and the intensity of his feelings for the djinn seemed to weigh him down.

“Bilbo? Are you alright?”

He looked up, and the concern he saw on the dwarrowdam’s face was almost too much to bear.

“Oh, Dís”, he said helplessly. “I don’t know if I can make this. I –” He swallowed thickly. His fellow hobbits back in the Shire didn’t even know of the djinn’s existence, and Bilbo had never been able to talk to anyone about Thorin, and how he felt for him. He had kept his hopes and dreams, his fears and doubts to himself. He had believed to be okay with this, but now, with Dís’ compassionate face in front of him, the words he had kept to himself for so long finally found their way over his lips.

“I know that Thorin values my friendship, but I … I don’t know if he feels the same way I do. If he feels the same yearning.” He laughed shakily. “Back when we met I couldn’t have imagined to ever feel like this. But it somehow … happened. It just happened. Falling for him was so easy. It still is. When I look at him, and he smiles at me …

Bilbo swallowed. If what he had felt last autumn had been love, what was it he felt now? The days had grown shorter, and yet Thorin had begun to bloom like a flower in spring. The once so rare smile had appeared on his face more often. It had been there whenever they had browsed through books and maps and talked about their adventure, but it had also brightened his face because of small acts, when Bilbo had made a cup of tea for him or had asked him if he would like to eat something special for dinner. Not being treated like a djinn, but being cared for had worked true miracles on him. Thorin had bloomed, and so had Bilbo’s feelings for him. They had become even stronger, deeper.

“It feels so wonderful, and at the same time it hurts. Why does it hurt so much?”

Dís leaned forward and gently patted his hand. “Because it’s real. Real love always hurts a bit.” She nodded at a ring on her left hand, intricately carved from silver and with inlays of deep blue stones. “I know what I’m talking about. My husband … I’m a widow.” She didn’t say anything more. Sorrow stood in her blue eyes, but the next moment she smiled at Bilbo again. “You don’t have to worry. This earring ...” She gently took it from Bilbo’s hand and attached it to his ear; the weight felt strange, but not unpleasant. “It has been made with great care for you, and I can tell that its crafter is very fond of you. Somebody who can craft such a delicate earring will also treat your heart with tenderness. I’m sure of it.”

Her words touched Bilbo deeply, and although he felt teary-eyed he showed her a smile. “Thank you, Dís”, he said quietly. His fingers wandered to his earring. “Would it … would it be appropriate to give Thorin something in return? A piece of jewellery, perhaps?”

She grinned. “That would be an appropriate way to show him that his courtship is accepted. But I think your dwarf has waited for you long enough, don’t you agree? Go to him, Bilbo. We can decide upon a gift for him later as well.”

 

***

 

Thorin stepped away from the caravan and let his gaze wander over their camp. All dwarves seemed to be occupied, either with preparing dinner or training – the closeness to the Greenwood obviously made them nervous. Óin, Glóin, and Bifur were soaking in the water of the little river, and Thorin decided that a bath was a good idea indeed. It was still warm enough, and the long way up the Carrock had made him sweat.

The djinn folded his clothes neatly, placed them carefully on a dry rock and gathered his hair into a bun before climbing into the water. He found a secluded spot where the rocks formed a bench and sat down with a sigh. The water was somewhat chill at first, but eventually Thorin relaxed. The tension left his muscles, his eyelids grew heavy, and he put his head in his neck and rested it on the rocks. He didn’t open his eyes as the other dwarves left soon afterwards and their movements caused the water to splash.

What made him stir, however, was the light tread of feet, lighter than any dwarf could ever walk. He knew immediately that it was Bilbo, and he wanted to rise and have a look if he was wearing Thorin’s gift. Suddenly he was afraid it wouldn’t fit the hobbit despite his efforts.

Thorin sat up, but there was a soft hush, and a gentle yet firm grip on his shoulders held him back. He didn’t resist as the hobbit pulled him back until he leaned against the rocks again.

“That’s right”, Bilbo whispered. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

Nimble fingers ghosted over his nape, and Thorin held his breath as they loosened his hair tie. The dark tresses fell over his back, and his cheeks heated as he heard a soft chuckle.

“I think I’ve never seen you like this before, with your hair loose”, Bilbo remarked quietly. He bent closer, and his fingertips grazed over Thorin’s temples in circling movements. “You should wear it like this more often. It’s very becoming on you.”

Thorin only managed to mumble a sound that could mean anything. His brain threatened to turn into goo under Bilbo’s caress, and he closed his eyes with a content sigh. The hobbit ran his fingers through Thorin’s hair, beginning at the hairline and moving them carefully through the tresses. Gradually he increased the pressure, but it didn’t hurt, quite the contrary: The feeling was exquisite, exciting and lulling at the same time.

Drowsily he tilted his head to offer Bilbo better access, and the hobbit gently tucked his hair to one side. Then he took single tufts of hair and combed his fingers through them, thus freeing them from any knots. He did so slowly, disentangling strand by strand, and hummed softly to himself.

The thought occurred to Thorin that he should explain Bilbo what he was just doing, what a meaning it had amongst dwarves. But he didn’t have the heart, he didn’t want Bilbo to stop. Nobody had ever treated him like this, and he loved the feeling of being taken care of like this. He felt as comfortable as a cat sleeping on an oven bench.

Besides, Bilbo was a hobbit and didn’t know the meaning behind his touches. He didn’t … couldn’t know that he treated Thorin like only a lover would do. The heat rose into Thorin’s cheeks. The care, the tenderness Bilbo put in every touch … This was something different than the care a dwarf mother showed when untangling her child’s hair.

By now the hobbit’s fingertips brushed along his scalp, making it prickle deliciously, and Thorin decided to enjoy his treatment to the fullest. Something so wonderful just couldn’t be wrong! With a deep sigh, he sank back between the hobbit’s arms until his head rested on Bilbo’s knees.

The hobbit laughed. “I can’t comb your hair like that, Thorin!” He didn’t withdraw his hands, though, but held the back of the dwarf’s head and gently raised it. Thorin blinked in surprise. Bilbo was bending over him now, and Thorin could finally see the copper oak leaf dangling amidst his curls on the left side of his face. His gaze, however, was drawn away from the gift he had crafted and settled upon the hobbit’s shining eyes. How happy he looked!

“You are beautiful”, Thorin whispered.

Bilbo’s smile deepened. His face seemed to come closer, and if Thorin raised his head just a little more he would be within reach –

A loud splash had both of them startle. The soft grip of hobbit hands vanished, and Thorin sat up straight. He blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened. That had been the sound of something heavy jumping into the water … or rather: _someone_ heavy. He expected either Fíli or Kíli to have done so and was surprised to see that he was wrong: It was Dori who had jumped into the water like a high-spirited pebble! His brothers followed in his wake, laughing and bickering and adding to the hubbub.

Thorin turned around to look at Bilbo. He was still kneeling on the rocks, and he frowned as he watched the three dwarves. The djinn’s gaze was magically drawn to the earring again.

“Confusticate and bebother these dwarves”, Bilbo muttered. But then he shrugged, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. He got up and dusted himself down. He was still standing on the same spot as before, but to Thorin he seemed out of reach now. The water suddenly felt cold.

“I think dinner will be ready soon”, Bilbo said quietly, not noticing the djinn’s uneasiness. “Don’t dally too long, yes?” With that, he turned on his heel and was on his way to the cooking fire.

Thorin’s gaze followed him, and he wondered if he had just dreamed things.

But he still felt the lingering warmth of gentle fingers on his scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lonely Mountain is already within sight ... We've made it pretty far, don't you agree? I want to thank all of you, my lovely readers, for accompanying me ... You're the best ones ^-^


	12. The courage of hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin would actually prefer a few quiet moments for himself to think about the events of the last days (and a certain hobbit), but - once again - that isn't easy when travelling with a whole company of dwarves. But then they pass through Mirkwood, and what happens there leaves quite an impression on Thorin - one that is strong enough for him to finally understand ...

Thorin was in a bad mood.

Maybe it was an exaggeration. It wasn’t his usual bad mood, the gloomy indifference that had accompanied him for so many centuries of his life and that he had gotten used to long ago. This was something different. He hadn’t slept well, but had tossed and turned and stared up at the stars, and now he felt unbalanced, distracted. He tried to listen to Bofur who was walking next to him. The dwarf told him about the Beornings who would be their hosts that night, but Thorin found that he didn’t even catch every third sentence.

The reason for his distraction walked a few steps in front of him.

Bilbo was idly talking with Dís, and he seemed – quite in contrast to Thorin – to be in high spirits. He gesticulated vividly as he spoke, and his words were often accompanied by merry laughs that brought a smile to Thorin’s face. Sometimes the dwarf could see a flash of copper in the sunlight, and whenever that happened he thought to feel delicate fingers combing through his hair, and his face turned all hot … just like now.

Suddenly he realized that Bofur had fallen silent and was obviously waiting for a response.

“I am sorry”, he muttered, and his cheeks grew even warmer. “My thoughts were somewhere else.”

Bofur raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere else”, he repeated perfectly serious. The next moment, though, a big grin spread on his face. “Certainly.”

If the ground beneath his feet would have opened in exactly that moment to swallow him, Thorin wouldn’t have protested. Of course he had noticed the glances the dwarves had cast at Bilbo’s earring – it would have been impossible not to see them. But it was the first time that one of them made a blunt remark about it. Or maybe Bofur was just jesting, and Thorin was reading too much into it?

Then again it made him think.

So far, Thorin had never really questioned the pleasant warmth he felt in his chest whenever Bilbo was concerned. He had almost forgotten how it felt to be treated decently, not to mention kindly by others; such feelings were nothing more than a faint childhood memory. Bilbo did all that and more: That the hobbit considered him his friend was a wonderful experience that brought back a happiness Thorin had hardly remembered. It only deemed him natural to return Bilbo’s kindness and to think of him as a friend as well. To feel comfortable, even happy in his presence.

But so far, it had only been the two of them, and during the winter, when they had planned their journey, Thorin had wondered if anything would change between them when they met other travellers. If it would feel awkward to be amongst people instead of being alone with Bilbo, if others would see what he was, or if he would find friends.

As glad as he was to have found friends in the dwarves indeed, another concern had begun to creep into his mind, so slowly and quietly that he hadn’t noticed it at first. But by now he wondered if it was still appropriate to call Bilbo his friend.

Maybe it was simply because the both of them had spent so much time alone together and had shared so many experiences, had gotten to know each other so well, but Thorin knew that what he felt for the hobbit was something different. He didn’t feel for Bilbo as he did for the dwarves. This was deeper, gentler yet fiercer. To him, Bilbo was –

A cry from the head of their caravan jolted him out of his musings. Lost in thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that they were approaching what looked like a farm, some wooden buildings and animal pens. Somebody was chopping wood, the regular thud of an axe against the chopping block was loud in the afternoon air.

“Busy as always, those Beornings, it seems”, Nori remarked.

“I wish they’d be baking honey cake instead of chopping wood”, Dwalin said longingly.

Balin chuckled. “There has always been more than enough cake for us, brother.”

The sound of wood-chopping had stopped, and they were close enough now to see that someone was awaiting them. It was a huge man with dark hair and beard. His limbs were thick with muscles, and the sight of him made Thorin’s skin prickle.

“This is no ordinary man”, he observed quietly.

“He’s a skin-changer”, Ori explained. His voice was shaking with excitement what earned him an almost shocked glance from Dori.

“That’s Beorn. He may look grim”, Nori added, trying to appease his fussy brother, “but we’ve been trading with him for years, and he’s a decent fellow.”

And indeed: Beorn greeted them with a rolling laugh as the whole company with Dís at their head eventually stood in his courtyard and bowed down.

“Well met, Lady Dís! You’re late this year. I already wondered if you would show up at all.” Beorn’s voice was gruff, but not unfriendly, and there was a good-humoured twinkle in his eyes.

“We took our time in Khazad-dûm”, the dwarrowdam replied amicably. “There are some amongst us who have never been there before, like my sons.” Fíli and Kíli bowed down again; Ori in turn seemed to have disappeared somewhere behind his brothers.

Beorn greeted them with a nod, but his face showed astonishment as his eyes fell on Bilbo. “And who’s this little fellow?”

The hobbit bit back a huff as he was addressed like this but made a bow as well. “Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service.”

“Beorn, at yours”, he replied earnestly. Then his gaze came to rest upon Thorin. The djinn tried to stay calm as he felt the skin-changer’s dark eyes on him, but he got the impression that Beorn could see very clearly what he was.

But the moment passed, and Beorn turned to Dís again. “I welcome you”, he said, “and a feast will be prepared for you. But business before pleasure, as you dwarves say.”

With quick, practiced movements the dwarves returned to their caravans, opened their shutters and thus turned their homes into shops. They were in their element at once, and Beorn was eager to have a look at their goods and promised them not only coin in turn, but honey and wool as well.

“Seems we have to wait for the cake”, Dwalin muttered next to Thorin. They watched as another man, almost as tall as Beorn, strode past them with a nod and took care of their ponies. “We’d better use the time.” He glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eye. “How about another training session?”

On the first evening after they had left Khazad-dûm, Dwalin had approached him, carrying two wooden swords and inviting him to join his training. Thorin had hesitated at first. Despite all the generous meals Bilbo had cooked for him he still had the frame of a warrior, but it had literally been ages since he had fought – fought properly, against a training partner back in Erebor, wielding skilfully wrought steel. He had carried weapons since then, when he had been forced to fulfil a master’s wish, but that had been something different, something he didn’t want to remember. He had been concerned to have forgotten what he had learned in his youth, and that Dwalin would notice the discrepancy between his appearance and his actual skills. On the other hand he hadn’t got the impression that Dwalin had left him much choice, and so he had joined him.

Thorin hadn’t regretted his decision.

He had felt terribly clumsy at first, and Dwalin had agreed to that. But slowly he had found back into the movements as his body remembered the steps and thrusts and parades it had performed so often in another age. It hadn’t forgotten everything, not even after such a long time, and somehow Thorin felt as if he had also regained a part of his former self. He received some bruises – Dwalin didn’t hold back, at least not much –, but he began to look forward to their training sessions. He clearly improved, and by now their fights felt like complicated, but rewarding dances to him.

Thorin always forgot everything around them as they moved through its steps, and today was no exception. Even breathing deemed him easier despite the bodily strain, and he forgot his former uneasiness.

He started to frown, though, as he realized that Dwalin looked at him in a strange way – the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to bite back a grin.

“Is something wrong?”, Thorin asked after some while. Their wooden swords had just clashed against each other, and they had stumbled a few steps apart, catching their breaths.

“I just thought that your style of fighting is quite good, although a bit old-fashioned.” Suddenly the dwarf grinned broadly at him. “And I’m impressed that your loose hair doesn’t hinder you!”

Thorin blushed as Dwalin began to laugh. It was true that he used to braid his hair, or pull it into a ponytail – but Bilbo’s remark the day before …

_You should wear it like this more often. It’s very becoming on you._

The memory let him blush more. Fortunately Dwalin didn’t add anything else, but patted his shoulder companionably and led him back to the caravans. The dwarves were done with business, and tables and benches had already been brought into the courtyard. The first smells of the promised feast hung in the air, and Thorin realized how hungry he was.

“You see, we’ll be entering the Greenwood tomorrow”, Dwalin began. They didn’t approach the tables, though, but moved towards the caravan he shared with his brother. “It used to be called _Mirkwood_ , and some people still use that name. For a good reason! A great evil used to hide there, and although it was banished, some … things still linger there. So I guess it would be wise if you had something to defend yourself – something more useful than that toothpick.” He stepped into the caravan, and Thorin waited patiently.

“How was the training?”

Thorin turned around as he heard Bilbo’s voice. He smiled. There was a smudge in the corner of the hobbit’s mouth, looking suspiciously like honey. “Strenuous”, he answered and motioned towards his face. “Has the feast already started?”

Bilbo rubbed his thumb over the corner of his mouth and grinned. “It has – that is, if you’re stealthy enough.”

“I should warn the others”, Thorin teased. “It seems there is a burglar amongst us!”

“It was just a first taste”, the hobbit replied dignifiedly. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. Or do you disagree? Did I take something from _you_?” He looked at him cheekily.

The djinn’s mouth opened, but he didn’t answer. No, Bilbo hadn’t taken anything from him, quite the contrary: He had given him, more than he could ever have wished for. A home, friendship, happiness … And yet he felt as if it was true, that Bilbo had taken something from him indeed, but he couldn’t name it, couldn’t get to the heart of it.

He kept looking at Bilbo wordlessly. The silence between them threatened to become uncomfortable, but Dwalin chose that moment to return. He was carrying a scabbard and handed it over to Thorin with a grunt.

“I think this will do.”

The djinn was surprised at the weight of it. The scabbard was beautifully crafted, and he took a moment to relish the feeling of polished wood beneath his palms. The pommel reminded him of wood as well, but he could tell that it was something different. He moved his thumb over it thoughtfully. Bone maybe, or a giant tooth? Curiously he drew the sword out of the scabbard at one go.

It was a marvellous sight. The blade was curved on one side, but had a straight edge on the other. The steel shone in the light of the setting sun, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. It was a great sword, but it was perfectly balanced and felt familiar in Thorin’s hands at once.

“I can really have it?”, he asked in awe as he admired the runes that were carved into the blade.

“We found it in a troll-hoard”, Dwalin explained, “and there aren’t many dwarves who can wield such a big sword. May it serve you well.”

Thorin lowered his head in a bow, but he could hardly take his eyes off the weapon. He only tore his gaze away from it when Dwalin announced: “And our hobbit shouldn’t stay unprotected as well.”

He handed him another sword, and Bilbo awkwardly accepted it. Carefully he unsheathed it and twisted it to and fro. He frowned suspiciously at first, but his face brightened a bit as he noticed what a masterpiece it was as well. It was small, more like a dagger, but its design resembled Thorin’s sword.

“But look”, Bilbo said and pointed at the blades, “there aren’t any elvish runes on mine.”

“A good omen”, Dwalin grumbled, and Thorin was surprised that he didn’t make any gesture to ward off evil. “We can consider ourselves lucky that we won’t run into the pointy-ears during the next days. Thankfully the forest path doesn’t lead us to their halls.”

Bilbo blinked. “What a pity”, he said. “I would have liked to see some of them. I’ve never seen elves before.”

Dwalin snorted. He was about to add something, but then his face brightened up clearly. Thorin turned around and smiled as he saw the reason for his delight: Beorn and three other men – probably his sons; all of them were as tall as the skin-changer – had brought the last bowls and platters and waved the dwarves to gather at the tables. The feast had begun.

“What a wonderful sight.” The bald dwarf clapped his hands with excitement. Thorin’s stomach grumbled audibly as well, but he and Bilbo took the time to carefully store their new weapons away.

When the hobbit wanted to follow Dwalin towards the tables, Thorin quickly grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Is it true, Bilbo? Do you really wish to see elves?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again when he noticed what words Thorin had used. He frowned. “Thorin”, he said slowly, “are you trying to make me wish for something?”

“N-no, of course not!”, the djinn replied quickly. He couldn’t look into Bilbo’s eyes, though. Instead his gaze fell on the earring, but the sight only made him stutter the more. “You … I know you promised not to treat me like a djinn, and I am grateful that you kept your word. But … If you really wish for something … You should not forsake my powers completely. I will … I will gladly fulfil all your wishes.” Although Thorin stammered and felt like an utter fool, he meant every word. He could never have imagined to say such a thing, not to any of his former masters. But Bilbo wasn’t like any of them, and it was true: If he could use his powers to make him happy, then he would gladly do so.

Bilbo was about to reject his offer, the djinn could tell from the look in his eyes. But then, when he saw how serious Thorin was, he hesitated. “I know what such a promise from you means, and I … I’m honoured by it. So I … will keep it in mind”, he promised eventually. “But now let’s enjoy the feast, shall we?” He reached for Thorin’s elbow, and his touch sent a spark through the djinn’s body.

But then they were amongst the dwarves again, and with all the noise around him as well as the tasty food and the even tastier mead in front of him Thorin found it increasingly difficult to remember the feeling that had awoken in his chest when he had told Bilbo he would fulfil all his wishes.

The air was pleasantly warm, bearing a promise of midsummer, and it was already late when Thorin positively tottered towards the stables where they were accommodated.

The smell of hay welcomed him, and he could hear snores from the dwarves that had already left the feast. The strong mead hadn’t clouded his senses completely, though, and he spun around as he heard approaching footsteps.

He only relaxed slightly as he noticed Beorn. Once again he felt the skin-changer’s steady gaze upon him, recognizing him for what he was.

“It seems”, Beorn said quietly, “that you’ve found a place to belong.”

Thorin nodded. “Just like you.”

To his surprise, the skin-changer chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Aye. It’s always good to be amongst friends, isn’t it?”

“It is”, the djinn answered honestly. Beorn grinned and bid him good night.

His words, however, stuck with Thorin as he finally lay down in the hay. _Friends_ , he mused. _Friends. But to me, Bilbo is –_

The mead took its toll before he could finish his thought.

 

***

 

By now Thorin knew why some people called it _Mirkwood_.

He had understood Dwalin’s concerns about the wood as soon as they had stood at its entrance, a tunnel built by two great trees that leant together, laden with ivy and lichen. It hadn’t looked alarming at first sight, and yet Thorin had gripped the hilt of his new sword. There was something unsettling about the Greenwood he couldn’t put into words.

At least the forest road was well maintained, broad and clear, and they travelled quickly, rising early and only stopping when it became too dark and therefore dangerous for the ponies to move on. All the while the canopy of green leaves far above their heads was thick, and not often did a sunbeam find its way through it. But this wasn’t upsetting, it was only trees and bushes and the occasional chirping of a bird.

There were other parts of the forest, though. Sometimes they passed through areas that felt strange – sick, Bilbo had commented the first time they had travelled through such a part. Then the air turned sticky, the leaves were of an unhealthy dark colour, and there was dead silence.

None of the dwarves voiced any concerns, but the tension was tangible and they set up night watches. On the morning Balin announced that they were already at the Eastern end of the forest and would leave it that afternoon all of them were relieved.

They were still wary, though, and didn’t speak much. The company had been quiet since they had entered the forest; not even Fíli and Kíli talked much and only in muffled voices. Thorin missed his talks with Bilbo, especially the evening ones at the fireside, but he kept silent in the strange atmosphere of the Greenwood.

At first he had hoped the forced silence would give him the opportunity to think through the events of the last days – the earring, the bath in the river beneath the Carrock, and his promise to the hobbit before the feast at Beorn’s. But in vain! His thoughts were as stuck as he felt on this never-changing forest path, and when they settled down for the night Thorin had to admit that he had made no progress during the day at all.

 _It feels as if I was cursed_ , he pondered, and there was almost something amusing about it. Although he was determined to give it another try the next day, he was soon distracted again, this time by the rustling of leaves. He frowned and stared into the undergrowth –

– just to stagger a few steps back as something huge broke through the thicket.

The ponies whinnied in panic before Thorin even realized what was happening. All he could see were hairy legs, sharp fangs, faceted eyes – only slowly could he put these impressions together to the dark body of a giant spider.

The hideous beast was right in front of him. The sword was in his hands all of a sudden, and Thorin raised it to defend himself.  The other dwarves, more experienced in battle than he was, were quicker, and before he could strike a blow himself Dwalin’s axe crushed down onto the spider. It uttered a screech that hurt in Thorin’s ears, and its legs lashed out violently as Dwalin, Dori, and Nori kept attacking it. Thorin rushed to their aid, and finally the spider sank to the ground and didn’t move anymore.

The fight wasn’t over, though: They could hear the clashing of steel as well as shouts deeper in the wood. The dwarves shared some looks before they nodded at each other.

Quickly they decided who had to stay behind to calm the ponies and watch over the caravans. Ori protested loudly when he was picked. Neither Dís, Bombur, nor Óin looked very happy with being chosen as well, but they nodded grimly.

In the meanwhile Thorin looked for Bilbo. The hobbit had been out of the spider’s reach, but had drawn his sword as well and still held it in front of him. He looked startled, but seemed to know what he was doing. He had joined some training lessons as well, although he had preferred to practice with Balin and the younger dwarves, and it had more looked like a game. Nonetheless an icy first seemed to clench Thorin’s heart at this sight. He approached Bilbo, grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him a few steps away to speak to him.

“You have to make a wish”, he announced without further ado. “I have to move out of earshot. Otherwise I cannot join the dwarves in the fight.”

Bilbo stared at him. “You want to go alone? Without me? But –”

“Please”, the djinn interrupted him, “make the wish!”

“No, I won’t do that!” Bilbo glared at him now, he was positively trembling with rage. “I will not stay behind, and I will definitely not wish for you to go into danger!” Suddenly the expression on his face changed, and he looked hurt. “How can you ask such a thing from me?”

Affection welled up in Thorin’s chest, threatening to overwhelm him in its intensity. He swallowed, looking for the right words – any words – to answer. But time was pressing, so he only nodded. “Please be careful and stay close to me.”

A sudden grin crossed Bilbo’s face. “That’s just what I wanted.”

The other dwarves were already leaving the path, and they hurried after them. The sounds of fighting soon became louder, more urgent, but they only made slow progress. Branches and thorns reached for them, holding them back, as if the wood itself was trying to stop them. Eventually, however, they burst right into the battle.

The small clearing was full of spiders, each of them more monstrous than the one that had attacked their caravans. There seemed to be dozens of them although several had already been struck down by sharp blades and arrows. Screeching furiously, the remaining ones tried to break through the circle of elves that had surrounded them.

Thorin hadn’t seen elves for an eternity, and never before any wood-elves, but there wasn’t any time to look at them. One of the spiders, small by comparison yet bigger than the dwarves, had cleverly created a breach by hooking its hairy leg around an elf’s ankle and pulling him aside. Now it scrambled towards the dwarves, snarling and showing its sharp fangs.

Thorin raised his sword. For a short moment he marvelled once more at how perfect it felt in his grip. Then the spider was already upon them. It hissed, but didn’t slow down as Balin’s sword bit into one of his legs. Thorin sprang forward, aiming his weapon at its head. It cut into flesh almost effortlessly, and a horrendous stench rose as dark blood dripped onto the forest floor. The spider squirmed in pain as another one of its legs gave in beneath Bofur’s hammer. It tried to rear up and stroked out wildly. Almost too late Thorin noticed that a claw was aimed at him, and he brought up his sword to fend it off. But then there was a flash of steel, and the cut-off leg fell to the ground.

The djinn turned around to see Bilbo. He had raised his sword, and his chest was heaving. He looked rather dashing, and suddenly Thorin felt foolish for asking him to stay behind. He nodded thankfully at him, and the hobbit showed him a quick smile in turn. Then they focussed on the fight again.

Three other spiders had managed to escape the elves, but one of them was struck down in just that moment by Bifur, Dori, and Nori; Balin and his brother were preventing another one from escaping into the wood; the third spider –

“Kíli!”

There was a sharp yell – Fíli’s voice. The young dwarf jumped over a dead spider to reach his brother. Another spider, bigger than all the others, had pulled Kíli to the ground. He had lost his sword as he fell and was trying to find some grip as the spider was dragging him away from the centre of the fight.

Thorin and Bilbo reached them only moments after Fíli. The young dwarf was hacking at the spider’s legs, thus freeing his brother from its grasp. His strikes were enough to distract the hideous beast, but they couldn’t pierce its hide properly. This spider was protected by some kind of shell, and Thorin’s arms began to tremble with the effort as he drove his sword into its flesh. Finally the spider snarled with pain, but it took all four of them – Kíli had gotten back on his feet and picked up his weapon – to force the spider to the ground. Its hairy legs still twitched as it tried to scratch one of them, but eventually the movement died away.

Thorin stumbled back, breathing heavily by now. His arms were leaden, and he was glad that the sounds of fighting were already ebbing away, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

Suddenly he heard something else very clearly: rotten leaves, whirled into the air as gnarly legs moved quickly through them. He heard Bilbo shouting his name, telling him to watch out, and he twisted around to see the dark, heavy body of another spider approaching him.

Although his mind realized at once in what great danger he was, his body made no move to defend itself, it seemed to be frozen. He could only stare at the giant insect, see it leaping at him, its mouth with the sharp fangs opened wide. Then there was nothing but darkness; at least his body had found enough will to let him close his eyes. Everything around him became strangely muffled, the shouts as well as the clashing of weapons.

Then he heard a sudden cry, so clear in his ears that it hurt physically – a cry of pain, uttered in Bilbo’s voice.

He tore his eyes open to see Bilbo’s small body sinking against him. His face beneath the dishevelled hair was distorted with pain. Thorin stared at him, not able to grasp what had happened. Then he raised his head and saw the spider that towered dangerously behind the hobbit – saw the leg with the sharp claw that dug into Bilbo’s shoulder.

The next moment dwarves rushed past him, forcing the spider back with heavy blows. It tried to drag Bilbo with it, but Thorin wrapped his arms around him protectively. The spider’s leg was pulled out of the hobbit’s flesh with a sickening sound, almost lost to the djinn’s ears as Bilbo cried out again before slumping into Thorin’s arms. The claw was still stuck in his shoulder.

“Bilbo?”, Thorin asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. But the hobbit made no sound. It felt unreal to see him like this, his face pale and covered with a cold layer of sweat. _Poison_ , he thought in a daze, _spider_ _poison_. “Bilbo?”, he asked once more, more urgent this time, and he could hear the tremor in his own voice.

His heart did a jump as the hobbit murmured and tried to stir in his arms, but he quickly patted his back soothingly.

“Everything will be alright, Bilbo. I am here. I will bring you to Óin, and he will see after you. Just try not to move, yes?”

“A wise counsel indeed”, a melodic voice said next to him. Thorin looked up to see an elf, the fiery red of her hair a sharp contrast to the greens and browns of her garments. Behind her, other elves were moving around the glade, ensuring that all spiders were dead. The battle was over. “This way the spider’s poison will not spread through his body.” She strode closer, and quicker than the djinn could react her hand shot out to pull the claw out of Bilbo’s shoulder. The hobbit cried out again, and Thorin did his best to comfort him by mumbling softly into his ear and stroking his back. This did not stop him from glaring at the elf, though.

“I apologize”, she said, “but this had to be done.” She reached for a pouch that was attached to her belt and handed it over to Thorin. “Take these herbs to clean his wound, and he will recover quickly.”

The djinn accepted the pouch without loosening his grip around Bilbo and nodded at her. “I thank you.”

The elf smiled at him. “Just take good care of _meleth lîn_.” With that, she turned on her heels and gave orders to her comrades.

Thorin blinked at her, wondering for a moment what she could have said. But then Bilbo muttered again, and her words were soon forgotten as Thorin carefully took him in his arms and carried him back to the caravans.

 

***

 

“I’m bored!”

Thorin wasn’t impressed by Bilbo’s huff although he was glad – very glad – that the hobbit was well enough to complain. “You have to rest”, he repeated nonetheless. “No discussion.”

“I know.” Bilbo’s voice was a touch softer now. “But I’m feeling better indeed, so stop making such a worried face.”

That was easier said than done. Several hours had passed since the assault of the spiders, and they had been anxious ones for Thorin. When he had reached the other merchants, the hobbit in his arms had passed out, and his face had been so pale and still that Thorin’s heart had seemed to stop beating completely. Óin, however, had taken care of Bilbo immediately, and they had brought him into Dís’ caravan where he could rest comfortably. To Thorin’s relief the herbs of the red-haired elf had worked true miracles, and the foul stink of poison had been replaced by the refreshing scent of an early spring morning. Bilbo’s face had looked healthier within moments, and the company had eventually dared to move on to get out of the wood. They had travelled slowly to avoid bumps in the road, but Thorin, being seated at the hobbit’s side, had flinched at the slightest unevenness. Bilbo, however, had slept soundly, and soon after they had left the Greenwood and had set up camp out of its shadow he had woken refreshed.

Now he was lying on his side to go easy on his shoulder and was clearly bored. Despite his complaints, however, Thorin could see that he was still harassed. Even as Bilbo looked at him now, he could hardly keep his eyes open. “As long as I’m confined to bed”, he mumbled, “I wish that you can walk about freely.”

The djinn smiled at him. “This is very considerate of you, but I do not wish to leave you.”

“You’ll stay with me for a while? Then would you … would you tell me a story?”

Thorin inclined his head. “As you wish.” He recalled the many winter evenings they had spent together, and the stories they had read to each other. “Would you like to hear about the three trolls?”

The hobbit beamed at him; it was one of his favourite stories. He snuggled into his blankets and listened as if enchanted as Thorin began to speak. It wasn’t long, however, until the dwarf noticed that his listener had finally succumbed to sleep. Quietly he got up and left the caravan.

Instead of making use of Bilbo’s wish, however, he sat heavily down on the steps and exhaled shakily. The last hours had been tiring, and he hadn’t had a moment to think about all the things that had been crushing down on him.

What he remembered most vividly was the horrible sense of helplessness he had felt at the sight of Bilbo’s pain-twisted face, and how afraid he had been of losing him. He had cursed himself, having fulfilled so many useless wishes for countless masters, and now not being able to help the one person who was more to him. Even if Bilbo would have found the strength to utter a wish, to ask him to heal him, he wouldn’t have been able to help him. Granting such a wish wasn’t possible, no matter how desperately he wished for it himself.

 

Even now his hands trembled, and he wrapped his arms around his legs to conceal the movement. He had never felt like this before, and even someone like him, inexperienced with so many things that meant goodness and kindness, could tell that the intensity of his feelings pointed towards _more_ , could tell that he was in –

“Thorin!”

The djinn looked up as Balin approached the caravan, and he smiled softly at the compassionate expression on the elderly dwarf’s face. It was touching to see how much the company cared about their hobbit’s well-being. They were actually spoiling Bilbo in their efforts to make him feel comfortable – Dori had brought him additional cushions, Ori had given him some books for distraction, and right now Bombur was preparing mushroom stew for dinner, knowing how much Bilbo loved them.

“Bilbo will be alright”, Balin said, “even without you watching his very doorstep.” He looked at Thorin for a while before he added: “I think you could do with a little break as well. Would you like to join me for a short walk?”

Thorin could hardly argue with that, so he nodded and got up. Balin was right, and Bilbo would chide him for not taking better care of himself, too. Nonetheless he caught himself looking back to the caravan with a sharp ache in his heart. Wasn’t it strange? He knew that he would see a great lake not far away if he looked straight ahead, as well as the impressive shape of a solitary mountain, its stone dark against the summer sky. He was so close to Erebor, and yet the sight of the small colourful caravan deemed him more important.

“You two are very close indeed, aren’t you?”

He was positively surprised at Balin’s question – the elderly dwarf had always been very discrete, and he hadn’t commented once on Bilbo’s earring except a remark about how becoming it was on him.

“We … we have been since we first met”, Thorin answered slowly. It was true, at least in parts: In the moment he had been released from his phial he had known that he was bound to Bilbo. But at the same time his statement didn’t feel right. He had been bound to many people in his long, long life, but he hadn’t felt like now for once, and he struggled to find the right words.

“You see”, Balin said as the silence lengthened, “you don’t have to hold back in front of us. We won’t judge you, and we won’t ask questions either.”

“Questions?”, Thorin repeated absent-mindedly. But then he rose from his thoughts and stared at Balin. Was he implying something? Had he noticed what Thorin really was? But how –

“Laddie”, the elderly dwarf answered, his voice affectionate, but with a hint of reproach as well, “we may not ask questions, but you shouldn’t take us for fools either. After all it isn’t difficult to tell that you eloped together.”

The djinn was so baffled that he stopped abruptly. “E-eloped?”, he repeated. “You think we – That we –”

“That close?, Balin suggested helpfully. Then he laughed, half with amusement, half with disbelief. “Thorin, you crafted jewellery for Bilbo!”

He blushed. So that hadn’t changed since his youth in Erebor, and crafting jewellery for someone was still considered a sign of affection. He vividly remembered his mother’s favourite hair ornament, and the beads his father had worn in his beard …

“But even without the earring it’s easy to tell how deeply you care for each other”, Balin continued in a gentle voice. “You positively beam around each other. It’s sad that there are still hobbits who think dwarves are nothing but greedy miners, and dwarves who think about hobbits as idlers that don’t care about the world outside their borders – but as I said, nobody will ask you about your reasons for running away together. We dwarves understand those who wish to keep their secrets. Although …” Suddenly Balin seemed a little bit bashful, and he ran his hand over his white beard. “Will you forgive me my curiosity and tell me if Bilbo has returned your gift?”

“Not with jewellery, no”, he began, “but my clothes …” He touched the fabric of his tunic. “Bilbo made them for me. They were a birthday gift. Not on my birthday, actually. He gave them to me on his – it is a custom amongst hobbits, you see … So actually I was returning his gift …”

He looked up again as he felt Balin’s hand on his shoulder. He smiled softly. “That sounds wonderful. As I said: We won’t bother you. But if there’s anything we can do for you – for both of you …” He gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re members of the company. And we’re all very fond of Bilbo.”

Thorin returned the smile. How could anyone not be? It was so easy.

He knew that Balin meant his words, and he observed once more how deeply the dwarves had taken Bilbo into their hearts when they all sat around the fire together for dinner. Thorin had carried him there – the red-haired elf had said Bilbo shouldn’t move too much so the poison wouldn’t spread in his body, and Thorin was determined not to take the tiniest risk. It was endearing to see how the faces of the dwarves brightened up at Bilbo’s sight. Dís insisted that he should stay in her caravan until he was fully recovered, and Fíli and Kíli supported her although that meant they had to share their own realm with their mother. Nobody listened to Bilbo’s repeated assurance that he felt much better already and that he would actually enjoy sleeping under the open sky as usual. Óin talked Bilbo into taking more herbal medicine he had sweetened just for him, and Bombur had a second helping of stew ready for him the next moment.

Although he sat amidst them, with Bilbo next to him, the djinn felt strangely removed, as if he was watching the others through some sort of thin veil. He heard them chatter and laugh and sing, but somehow their voices didn’t reach him. The fire enlightened their faces and warmed his skin, but it wasn’t as warm as the body of a sleepy hobbit that eventually leaned against him.

The voices of the dwarves had become whispers when Bilbo’s eyes had fallen shut, and they faded away as Thorin carried him back to the caravan and closed the door behind him. Carefully he let him down onto the narrow bed and put an extra pillow beneath his wounded shoulder. The hobbit muttered in his sleep, but it didn’t sound pained, more like a sigh.

Thorin smiled softly as he reached for the blanket and tucked Bilbo in. He remembered the one time he had done the same thing, after Bilbo had fallen asleep while listening to him playing the harp. It was a fond memory, and a very clear one. The hobbit had looked so peaceful in his slumber, and the candle on the bedside table had cast a warm glow on his face.

Back then Thorin had already known that Bilbo was special, that he was different than all the other masters he had met. But he couldn’t have imagined just how special, how kind and wonderful he was.

When he had first laid his eyes upon Bilbo, Thorin had expected him to be just another one in a long row of masters – a hobbit maybe, but in no way different than all the others, and Bilbo’s first wish for riches hadn’t done anything to change this impression.

But it _had_ changed. Thorin remembered the many moments that had brought them here, into this caravan on the Eastern side of the Greenwood. Many of them had left lasting impressions on him, and he would never forget them: their talk in the tower of Elostirion, when Bilbo had thanked him for granting him his first wish and thus saving his home, and Thorin in turn had told him about his own home; their two visits to Erebor – the second one even more important to him, connected to a smiling face and the planting of an acorn; Bilbo wishing for him to be free, the hobbit’s disappointment that his wish couldn’t be fulfilled, and his determination not to treat him like a djinn anymore, but a friend; Bilbo throwing himself in front of Thorin to protect him, only hours ago.

But there had been so many other steps on their way – smaller ones, quieter ones. The long hours they had read and discussed together, the countless times Bilbo had asked if he would like a special dish for dinner, the moments they had simply sat together without even talking.

All these acts of kindness, the small ones as well as the big ones, whirled through Thorin’s mind as he watched the sleeping hobbit. Just like on his birthday, Bilbo looked peaceful. His chest rose slowly and steadily, and his lips parted slightly to let out a quiet sigh, a sound that brought a gentle smile to Thorin’s own lips. The hobbit’s hair seemed to be made of copper in the light of the lantern, just like his earring. It had grown since they had started on their journey, and some curls hung into his forehead.

Thorin had already reached out to brush them aside when he suddenly froze, realizing what he was about to do. His fingertips only brushed through Bilbo’s curls, a touch as light as thistledown, and yet it was enough to make his heart clench painfully.

Thorin stood motionless like a statue, half bent over Bilbo, his fingers still grazing his curls. He couldn’t tell what exactly it was – maybe it was the soft smile on Bilbo’s face, maybe the slightest feeling of silk against his fingertips, or the faint scent of campfire and tea. Whatever it was, it made him see perfectly clear.

The pain in his chest didn’t ease as Thorin thought that he must have turned into stone long ago indeed. What other explanation was there that he couldn’t recognize love when it stepped into his life, so pure and so bright? But then warmth spread inside of him, strong enough to make him forget the ache, and finally, his mind understood what his heart already had known for a long time.

Thorin was in love with Bilbo, and he couldn’t wish for anything more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meleth lîn = your love. Yep, Tauriel glances at Thorin and Bilbo for just one moment and is totally like "aww, what a lovely couple they are!" XD
> 
> But Thorin finally got it!! This is actually a good opportunity to apologize - I mean, this fic started almost with instant infatuation from Bilbo's side, but with the POV-change to Thorin it obviously turned into slow burn ... But don't worry, our dwarf finally got it! And Dale's ahead, with its market and lovely romantic atmosphere - so stay tuned ^_^


	13. Love and kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally arriving at Dale, Bilbo and Thorin find that the city is full of people who want to see the summer fair. It makes finding an accomodation a bit difficult, but they're lucky enough to find a vacant room.  
> On the other hand, however, Bilbo shouldn't interrupt the landlord when he wants to add an "but" ...

“And here our paths will part”, Dís announced in a solemn voice, but with a smile upon her lips, “at least for a little while.”

The company stood at a crossroad. One path led into Dale, but the dwarves would take the other one and travel to the market field outside the city. They had lingered on the last section of their journey: They had camped one more day at the edge of Mirkwood and three days at the shores of the Long Lake, insisting that Bilbo needed rest. The hobbit, already feeling much better, had protested, but as none of the dwarves had listened to him, he had accepted their decision. In fact, he had enjoyed the leisure time, especially his walks with Thorin along the lakeshore. He would have liked to go deeper into the water, maybe even try to learn swimming – his Took side was quite strong these days. The young dwarves had promised they would teach him, but after the incident with the spiders even they had turned into true mother hens.

The company had only moved on yesterday, and since the official opening of the market would already take place the next day, they were eager to finally get there.

“But _amad_ ”, Kíli began, “can’t Bilbo and Thorin stay with us?”

“My gem”, his mother replied softly, “we’ve talked about this. We are here to work, and that means we won’t have much time for our guests. And they shouldn’t feel obliged to stay with us, but should be free to explore the city whenever they like. Don’t worry”, she added as she saw her son’s pout, “they promised to visit us. And you and your brother will get the chance to explore Dale as well, of course.”

She smirked as she approached Bilbo. “Besides, I think a few days without our bunch will do you good.” She pulled the hobbit into a surprisingly strong hug. Dís wasn’t as broad and tall as her companions, but she seemed capable of crushing the hobbit in her embrace nonetheless. Her voice, however, was gentle when she whispered into Bilbo’s ear: “It’s just you and Thorin now. Make good use of this time, dwarf-friend.”

“Thank you, Dís.” Bilbo felt somewhat teary-eyed when he and Thorin took the path towards the city and turned around once more to wave at their friends. He managed a smile, though, as he looked at the djinn. “It feels a bit strange to see them go, doesn’t it? They’ve been so kind to us … I’ve grown very fond of them.” He uttered a nervous laugh. “Now it’s only the two of us again. Just like at the beginning of our journey.”

Thorin, who was still watching the dwarves, made an affirmative sound, but didn’t say anything else, and so they turned towards Dale.

Dale sat between the arms of the Lonely Mountain, and as Bilbo’s first impression of the city consisted merely of stone walls and high buildings he found it difficult to concentrate on the man-built town. Instead his gaze wandered towards the impressive mountain, rising up into the summer sky.

His attention was drawn from Erebor, however, as soon as they passed through the city’s gate.

Bilbo held his breath. Most of the buildings were made of stone, but his eyes were met with the lively colours of tiles, painted surfaces, and frescos. And there was so much green as well! There were small gardens and orchards, at every corner seemed to be a tree, laden with fruits, or at least an earthen pot with herbs. Their scent was delicious and made his mouth water, and from the look on Thorin’s face he guessed that the dwarf felt the same.

Luckily there was a merchant nearby, offering heaps of exotic-looking fruits. Bilbo took the chance to get them some, and he sighed with content as he finally bit into the flesh of a bright red one. He laughed as he saw a trail of juice running into Thorin’s beard, but the dwarf – grinning broadly as well – raised an eyebrow at him, and Bilbo noticed that his own face didn’t look any better.

Cheerfully they continued their first walk through Dale. The city wasn’t only full of plants, but of water as well. There weren’t just fountains – although there seemed to be dozens of them –, but also cascades that fell from the upper levels down to the lower ones. Little rivers were threading throughout the city, sometimes disappearing beneath the buildings to come to the surface again a few steps further away. Water rippled out of stone statues that carried jars, and the sound mixed with the rustling of countless leaves.

And the people! There were so many of them, and all of them were clad in bright, cheerful colours as if they were already prepared for the festival. Bilbo watched them with fascination, but then something else caught his attention.

“Look”, he said and took Thorin’s elbow. “Shall we sit down here for a while?”

The djinn’s eyes turned somewhat glassy as they approached the fountain. It was hewn out of marble – the deep green marble of Erebor. It was a marvellous sight as it shone in the sunlight, not to be compared with the stone they had seen in the darkness inside the desolate halls.

It was strange, Bilbo thought as they sat down and Thorin moved his palms reverently over the polished surface, that there was such splendour so close to the ruined halls of Erebor. It seemed as if the dragon’s shadow lingered above the mountain without affecting the lives of men. Maybe they had a different perception of their history than the dwarves.

With a little nudge and an encouraging smile, Bilbo handed Thorin another one of the fruits. The djinn returned the smile, but they ate in silence and watched the hubbub at the square. There was a carousel with bronze animals in its centre, and a faint melody could be heard whenever they moved around.

Thus occupied, time passed quickly for them, and the sun was already on its way to the horizon when Bilbo and Thorin finally went in search for an inn. They obviously weren’t the only ones to look for accommodation: Many travellers had come to visit the market, and they were told at two inns that there weren’t any rooms available. They had more luck at the third one, though.

“It’s always like this during market season”, the landlord told them. “I’ve only got one vacant room. That is, if you don’t mind –”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine”, Bilbo interrupted him quickly, relieved that they had found a place to stay. The landlord raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stay anything else as they paid for several days in advance. They got the key to the room, and the man led them to a narrow stair. “Up there and down the aisle, the last room to the right.”

With that he padded away, and Bilbo and Thorin went to their room. It looked cosy, but was small indeed. There was no separate bathroom, only a washstand with a bowl and a jar, and the furniture merely consisted of a drawer, a little table with a bench and a bed.

One bed. Not two. It was man-size and thus quite big, but still …

_Maybe_ , Bilbo thought, _I shouldn’t have interrupted the landlord._

“Bilbo? Is everything alright?”, Thorin asked. The hobbit still stood in the doorway, and he peered around him. “Oh”, he made eventually.

They entered nonetheless, and the dwarf closed the door behind them. “Do not worry, Bilbo”, he quickly assured him. “I will leave the bed to you.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Thorin, but –”

“Your shoulder –”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m alright –”

“Still, it might be better if –”

Suddenly they were talking at the same time, and Bilbo raised his hands to stop both of them. “Listen”, he eventually said, “this discussion won’t lead to anything. I mean, both of us had to go without a proper bed for some time now, and it’s … it’s big enough, don’t you think? For the both of us.” His cheeks turned very warm, and he hoped that he didn’t sound too pushy … or too eager. “I mean, we’re both grown-up, so we can do this. Right?”

Thorin looked at him for a moment. “Right”, he eventually said, but he didn’t sound too convinced. “We can do this.”

Getting ready for bed turned into an awkward affair nonetheless. Since there was no other room to retreat, both of them sat down on opposite edges of the bed, backs to each other, as they changed their clothes. Bilbo did his best to keep his eyes fixed on his feet, but as he raised his arms to slip into his nightshirt he caught a glimpse of Thorin’s bare back. He swallowed as he saw the tense muscles as well as the thin white lines of scars, and he quickly looked away again.

Eventually they crawled beneath the blanket – Bilbo almost groaned in despair as he noticed that there was only one they had to share. It wasn’t very helpful as well that both of them moved to lie on their sides and thus faced each other. The hobbit mumbled a shy “good night” and, after some more moments, rearranged his position in what he hoped didn’t look like an attempt to escape.

Bilbo closed his eyes, but soon he figured out that sleep was – and would probably stay – out of reach. He was very aware of Thorin’s presence – his steady breathing, his warmth, his scent, everything that was him –, and this everything was too much for him to ignore and to drift towards sleep.

Without opening his eyes, he reached for his earring and ran his fingers over its surface. A sigh nearly escaped him as he remembered how close they had been on top of the Carrock, and how he had almost kissed – kissed! – Thorin later that evening. The image of Thorin sitting in the water, with his head resting in Bilbo’s lap stood vividly in his memory, as well as the tender look in his wonderful blue eyes and the gentle smile upon his lips. _Beautiful_ , Bilbo thought, dizzy with the mere memory, _he has called me beautiful._

Now the last thought of sleep was gone, and finally Bilbo opened his eyes. He sat up in bed and looked at Thorin who was slumbering next to him. Once more he had to hold back a longing sigh, and one of his hands flew to his chest as if he could soothe his aching heart with such a gesture.

Despite the setbacks caused by bad-timed dwarves, he had promised himself not to give up, but to try confessing his feelings to Thorin again. He would never forgive himself for not trying. Oh, he had had his doubts if confessing was a good idea at all – after all this whole djinn-master-matter stood between them. But this face had become so dear to him – the way Thorin looked at him, smiled at him –, and the idea of a day without seeing it was more painful than he could put into words.

Bilbo smiled as he watched Thorin’s face. There was this little frown between his eyebrows, as if he was even worrying in his dreams. The djinn laughed far more often and readily nowadays, but it seemed that he just couldn’t help brooding from time to time. He had grown quieter and more thoughtful again since their passage through Mirkwood, and his concern for the hobbit’s well-being could have been almost unnerving. But at the same time it had been endearing, and Bilbo had been touched by it. He hoped that it was a good sign, and that his feelings wouldn’t be unwelcome.

_Soon_ , Bilbo promised himself, _soon._ And, as if to strengthen his vow, he found himself leaning down to press a feather-light kiss on Thorin’s forehead.

The dwarf’s skin was warm beneath his lips, and the touch, although fleeting, made them prickle. How he wished to let them linger, to savour this feeling! _Soon_ , he reminded himself and drew back again.

That was when Bilbo saw that Thorin’s eyes were open.

The hobbit turned bright red before his mind could catch up with what was happening. _He’s awake._ His heart began to flutter. _He has noticed it._ An icy shiver ran through his body just to be replaced by a scorching feeling of embarrassment that even reached the tips of his ears. _He knows that I kissed him. I kissed him._ Bilbo’s nose twitched nervously, and his mind began to form the first apologies just to discard one after the other for its absurdity. _How can I apologize for kissing him?_ His mouth opened nonetheless, trying to limit the damage as much as he could.

In that moment Bilbo saw Thorin’s smile.

It was a tiny, shy one, and of such a deep-felt warmth that Bilbo forgot all his doubts at once. Instead of babbling awkward apologies, he sank back into the pillows. Lying on his side, he reached out to touch Thorin’s face. His fingers grazed over the scar upon his brow, the one he had caused himself by being careless with the djinn’s phial. Thorin didn’t flinch, though, and Bilbo’s fingers slowly moved on. They combed through his hair as reverently as they had done on that evening beneath the Carrock, stroked his temples and eventually cupped his cheek.

All the while Thorin watched him wordlessly, but with fond eyes, and Bilbo’s heart hammered against his chest as if it was trying to break free. A laugh welled up in his throat, but no sound made it over his lips. Could it be true? He had hoped that Thorin would return his feelings, and there had been moments he had been sure of it – well, almost sure, he had never been able to completely suppress the tiny whispers of doubt.

But Bilbo hadn’t expected to be met with such strong affection, with such tenderness and unrestricted _love._ Everything he saw in Thorin’s eyes gave him the courage to lean forward and kiss him.

The press of Bilbo’s lips against Thorin’s was soft, more of a brush. Yet it was enough to let his hand on the dwarf’s cheek tremble as if it was too great an effort for his body to let go of all fears and doubts, as if it couldn’t cope with the untainted happiness that spread throughout it. But then Thorin’s hand curled around his own, covering it completely. Bilbo marvelled at how tender its touch was, and he knew that Dís had been right, and that Thorin would always treat his heart with gentleness. He coyly leaned into their kiss, and now, leaving all worries behind it, his heart opened to Thorin like a blossom to the sun. It _was_ like feeling the warmth of the sun on one’s face after a long and cold winter, and at the same time it was more, so much more.

Eventually they drew apart a little, and Bilbo could look at that beautiful smile again, the same one he felt tugging at his own lips – small, deep, still a bit unbelieving. Their fingers were intertwined, and his heart was pounding fast, sending a wave of joy through him with every beat.

Suddenly Thorin shifted, their fingers were separated, and Bilbo had barely time to think _no, don’t let it be over, don’t let it be just a dream after all._

But it wasn’t over. There was the light tickle of beard as well as a warm waft of breath on his skin as Thorin rested his head against the crook of Bilbo’s neck. The dwarf nestled up to him, wrapping his arms around him so cautiously as if he was afraid of doing something Bilbo wouldn’t appreciate.

The hobbit in turn embraced Thorin, and he lowered his head to nuzzle the dark tresses. The dwarf relaxed at this caress, and he let out a content sigh that tickled Bilbo’s skin. Thorin felt so solid and warm, so wonderful in his arms. It woke another kind of bliss inside of him, quieter and even more fulfilling.

Bilbo smiled, and he fell asleep with the knowledge that he was a very happy hobbit indeed.

 

***

 

Thorin woke to the comforting sound of a steady heartbeat.

Still drowsy, he snuggled closer to its source, relishing the warmth of the arms that were around him. He sighed with content as he felt the lightest of touches grazing along his temples, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear, gently stroking the bare skin of his neck.

_Bilbo_ , he thought. His lips curved into a smile, and his heart beat faster. So he hadn’t been dreaming. With another sigh, he leaned into the caress.

“Good morning”, a voice whispered. Hearing its alluring softness, Thorin opened his eyes and was rewarded with a beautiful sight. Bilbo smiled tenderly at him, and a single ray of sunshine that had found its way into their room turned some of his curls into gold.

Thorin looked at him as if he saw him for the first time. He was lost for words, not even a “good morning” made it past his lips. Instead he found himself reaching up, and he did what he had longed for back in the little caravan at the Eastern side of Mirkwood, but what he had denied himself. He cautiously combed his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, marvelling at its softness beneath his palm. His fingers brushed against a pointed ear, and the little gasp the hobbit uttered drew his attention to his lips. How soft they looked – and how sweet they had tasted …

Thorin moved his thumb over Bilbo’s lower lip, and the shaky breath he felt on his skin sent a shiver through his body. Enthralled, he let his hand linger, but eventually he cupped the hobbit’s face with both of his hands and drew him close for a kiss.

Suddenly he feared again that all of this was a dream, and that Bilbo might disappear any moment. But the hobbit’s arms around his neck were very real, and the feeling was lovelier than any dream could ever be. His small hands were incredibly soft and warm, just like his kiss. To Thorin, feeling his warmth was like entering a bright home after walking through a cold, dark night for long hours. He remembered this feeling from his childhood, and yet this felt completely different – stronger, deeper, warmer. He had never known such a feeling before, and he wondered how he could ever have lived without it.

_Maybe_ , he mused, _I have not been cursed after all. Those long years of darkness … They have been necessary so I could meet Bilbo. Maybe it was no curse after all, but a blessing …_

He didn’t voice his thoughts, though, but rested his head against Bilbo’s chest and wrapped his arms around him again. The hobbit didn’t press him to speak, but idly played with his tresses. Both of them were only dimly aware of the outside world: of the sun that peeked in through the window, of chirping birds and the sounds of passer-byes. All of that seemed to be far away.

“If we want to see the official opening of the market”, Bilbo mumbled eventually, “we should get up now.”

Thorin hummed in agreement, but neither of them showed any intention to actually get up. “We probably should”, the dwarf said quietly after a while, “if we wish to see it.”

Bilbo bent down a little, thus bringing his lips close to Thorin’s forehead. “I wish you would kiss me once more.”

The hobbit had hardly uttered the words when he flinched. Panicked he sat up, thus untangling their close embrace. Thorin blinked at him in surprise.

“No!”, Bilbo exclaimed, his face bright red. “I wish you would _not_ kiss me.” The colour on his cheeks deepened even more. “That sounds horrible as well! I wish – What I mean –” He swallowed nervously, and Thorin watched him half amused, half wishing to comfort him. “I would like it very much if you kissed me again … if that is what you want too.”

With a smile, Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand and breathed a kiss on his knuckles. “I do.”

The hobbit returned his smile, but the peaceful quiet of before was gone, and now they got up indeed. Like the evening before, they dressed up with their backs towards each other, but now the situation had lost its awkwardness. When Thorin had pulled his tunic over his head, he cast a glance over his shoulder just to see that Bilbo was doing the same. He was wearing the tunic he had gotten from Dori, the linden green one with golden embroideries.

Thorin, enchanted by his sight, turned around and offered the hobbit his hand.

“May I ask you out?”

Bilbo smiled at him and took his hand.

The staircase down into the common room was narrow, and they had to let go of the other’s hand to walk behind each other. But as soon as they had left the inn, their fingers were intertwined once more.

 

***

 

The plain west of Dale was full of colourful tents, caravans, and stalls. So far, however, nobody strolled through the market. Instead the people gathered at its entrance, waiting for the official opening. A podium had been built there, and Bilbo and Thorin arrived just in time to watch the Lord of Dale stepping onto it.

Lord Bard looked rather grim-faced, quite in contrast to the three children behind him that smiled brightly and waved at the audience with excitement. The lord’s voice was grim as well, but his words were kind, and his speech was short – Bilbo got the impression that he wasn’t too fond of being the focus of attention. Instead he retreated from the podium quickly. The people cheered nonetheless, musicians started to play, and thus the fair in Dale was officially opened. The people surged into the market area, Bilbo and Thorin amidst them.

Since they had skipped breakfast, they let themselves be led by their noses and soon wandered through an area full of delicious smells. The hobbit’s eyes widened at the ample choice of delicacies, amongst them many he had never seen or heard of before. Thorin shared Bilbo’s curiosity, and a while later they sat down in a corner with a whole load of different treats, sweet ones as well as savoury ones.

Bilbo tried one of the honey-soaked griddle-cakes, and he sighed as it positively melted on his tongue. Thorin smiled fondly at him, and Bilbo blushed as he reached out to wipe a smudge of honey off the corner of his mouth.

“You told me once”, the djinn said while his hand lingered, “that cooking together can have a special meaning amongst hobbits. What about eating together?”

That had been on his birthday – it seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet Thorin remembered it. Bilbo took another one of the small griddle-cakes and held it out to him. “It means something very good”, he simply said.

Thorin understood without further explanations. He accepted the offered cake, and a pleasant shiver ran down the hobbit’s spine as Thorin’s lips grazed his fingertips. They continued their breakfast in a manner that would have been considered outright flirtatious back in the Shire, offering each other different dishes to try and eating from the same plates. Just like on his birthday, it felt right to Bilbo to show his affection for Thorin like that. And by now he knew that it _was_ right, and that he had deceived himself by telling himself that he shouldn’t treat the djinn in such a way, that it wasn’t appropriate.

Finally, when nothing more than crumbs were left on the plates, they got up and started their stroll through the market. The rich assortment was amazing – the merchants offered household items, fabrics, jewellery, toys, books, and countless things Bilbo couldn’t even name. The merchants themselves were fascinating to look at as well. They seemed to come from all corners of Middle-Earth. Most of them were humans or dwarves, but they also saw some elves, and once Bilbo thought to have discovered a sun-tanned hobbit in the crowd – a far-travelled Took, maybe.

They didn’t only look and stare and marvel, but bought some little mementos as well: Thorin found supplies for his crafting whereas Bilbo got some embroidered handkerchiefs, and he purchased an intricate wooden comb. He didn’t say that the latter was a gift for Thorin, but his djinn blushed heavily. He tried to hide his bashfulness by intently studying another display, knowing perfectly that the comb was a promise of caresses.

But then he looked up again, and his face brightened up. To Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin nudged him towards a flower stall. The scent that rose from it was wonderful, and the hobbit closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to enjoy it to the fullest. He opened them again when something brushed against his cheek, and he caught a glimpse of a blue flower before Thorin tucked it behind his ear. _A forget-me-not_ , he noticed with a smile and squeezed Thorin’s hand affectionately.

As they moved on, they could hear music, and it didn’t take long until they found themselves in front of a dance floor. Couples moved around it to a jolly tune, their merry laughter almost louder than the music. Bilbo and Thorin watched them for a while until the music broke off, and the dancers as well as the onlookers applauded. Then there was a short pause, and some people left the dancefloor while others joined the next dance.

“Shall we?”, Bilbo asked. Thorin hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, and they quickly joined the dancers. At the beginning they stood opposite of each other, separated by a few steps, but as soon as the music began to play they bridged the distance, and Thorin’s hands came to rest on Bilbo’s hips whereas the hobbit put his hands on the dwarf’s shoulders. They moved to the right, then to the left, and whirled around. The steps were repeated twice more before they had to draw apart to change their dance partners, and Thorin’s warm grasp around him disappeared. Bilbo cast a longing glance at him as they had to move apart. The next moment, however, he laughed again as he saw that his new partner was one of the girls that had stood behind the Lord of Dale during the opening ceremony. She was very young, and Bilbo was taller than her, but she moved effortlessly to the quickening tune and smiled brightly at him. When they whirled around each other Bilbo saw that Thorin was dancing with the other girl, very probably her older sister. He laughed as he noticed just how much taller she was, and how lost Thorin looked while dancing with her. Then they were gone from his field of view again, and suddenly Bilbo found himself dancing with a new partner, a woman in the colourful clothes of Dale that was quite tall as well.

He danced with three more partners before he was back in Thorin’s arms, and then the music stopped. Bilbo barely heard the applause. His face was very close to Thorin’s, and he felt the dwarf’s breath brushing warm over it. Before he could close the last gap between them, though, he heard a bright voice.

“You’re a good dancer, mister – and that although your feet are so big!”

He turned around to see the little girl he had danced with. Her elder sister was right behind her, giving the girl a shocked look.

“Tilda!”, she hissed. “That’s a rude thing to say.”

Bilbo assured them that he wasn’t offended, and the girl’s face lightened up again immediately. “You hear that, Sigrid?” Then she turned to Bilbo again. “Where are you from? I’ve never seen someone like you before!”

“I’m a hobbit from the Shire. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He bowed down, much to Tilda’s delight. She was so excited to meet a hobbit that she barely listened to Thorin’s introduction.

“The Shire! That’s far away, isn’t it? Did you travel all the way here? Together with your dwarf? Did you have any adventures on your way here?”

Bilbo blushed visibly, but Sigrid had mercy on him. “Come, Tilda”, she said softly. “We should meet with father, remember? Besides, the market has only just begun. I’m sure we will meet Mister Baggins again, and then he can tell you his stories. Maybe you can even dance together again.”

“That would be great!” Tilda shook Bilbo’s hand enthusiastically before she turned to Thorin. “And, Mister Dwarf, try not to step on your hobbit’s big feet while dancing!”

“Do not worry”, Thorin replied. “I will take good care of him.”

They waved after the girls until they disappeared in the crowd. People were already gathering for the next dance, but Bilbo and Thorin left the floor. The quick tune had left them breathless, and they sat down and shared a cup of wine before they continued their walk through the market. The whole plain between Dale and Erebor seemed to have turned into a maze of stalls and other attractions, but eventually they found the bright caravans of their friends.

Balin smiled brightly at them as he noticed their intertwined hands, and Glóin didn’t even try to lower his voice when he said to his brother: “Told you they wouldn’t resist the market’s magical atmosphere.”

Óin let out a roaring laugh. “It worked with you and your wife as well, after all!”

The other dwarves chuckled good-humouredly as Glóin began to indulge in reminiscences of how he and his wife had met, but Bilbo’s attention was drawn to the stall where Dís worked. The dwarrowdam just waved a customer good-bye, but then her gaze found Bilbo’s, and she gave him a wink.

“Thorin?”, Bilbo asked, turning to the djinn. “Do you mind a short stop? I …” He trailed off, not really knowing what to say. There was something he wanted to discuss with Dís in private, but at the same time he didn’t want to ask Thorin to stay behind and wait for him.

His dwarf, however, understood him without words. “I will stay within earshot”, he promised.

The hobbit smiled at him, and he kept his gaze fixed on Thorin until he had entered Dís’ caravan and the door closed between them.

 

***

 

Thorin watched fondly how Bilbo staggered up the stairs into Dís’ caravan and almost bumped into the doorframe because he looked back at him. Then the door closed, and Thorin turned his attention to the goods the dwarves offered.

Fíli and Kíli, who represented their mother while she was in the caravan, grinned broadly at him as he studied not the crafted jewellery, but the raw gems they offered. He ran his fingers over some gems in different hues of blue, trying to get an impression of their quality. They were perfect to carve them into flowers, he thought.

Last summer, Bilbo’s friends Drogo and Primula had begun courting each other, and Thorin, being hidden in his shirt pocket, had learned that hobbits ascribed meaning to flowers. There were too many subtle nuances to their colours or the way they were arranged for him to recollect, but he remembered Bilbo saying that blue flowers were his favourite ones as he loved their colour. He had chosen the forget-me-not to tuck behind Bilbo’s ear for that reason.

“Would you like to buy a gift for someone?” Kíli’s voice interrupted his musings.

“We’re talented crafters, despite our young age”, Fíli assured him. “Not many dwarves are specialized in crafting leaves and flowers –”

“Nature stuff, you see”, Kíli added helpfully.

“But we loved the story of Thorin Oakenshield when we were children, so we have a talent for carving trees and that.” He trailed off, not having noticed Thorin’s sudden flinch as he heard that name. The brothers still beamed at him.

“I don’t doubt your talent”, the djinn told them with a smile, “but I think I’ll just buy some materials right now. So, about the blue gems …”

He bought enough of them to craft a bracelet for his hobbit. Then he went a few steps further, leisurely looking at the diverse displays of the company until something caught his attention.

“Have you seen something you like, Mister Thorin?”, Ori asked. The young dwarf watched over an assortment quills, parchments, and inks in different colours, but it was something else that had caught Thorin’s eyes.

“I have indeed”, he confirmed and pointed at a notebook. It was bound in red leather, with elegant ornaments on the cover. He knew at once that it was perfect for Bilbo. The hobbit already had one, a simple, well-thumbed thing. He had taken notes during their journey, and he had confided to Thorin – somewhat bashfully, bearing a flush on his face – that he wanted to turn them into a story when they were back at home. So Thorin didn’t hesitate to purchase the beautiful notebook.

He had hardly accepted it from Ori when he heard Bilbo’s voice.

“Thorin?”

He turned to look at the hobbit. His eyes fell on the leather cord around Bilbo’s neck, but if there was any pendant attached to it then it was hidden under his shirt.

“Shall we move on?” Bilbo showed him a smile, but it was somewhat insecure, and the way he crossed his hands behind his back seemed a bit too casual. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about this special purchase, and Thorin, although curious, did him the favour.

Instead he held the notebook out to him. “This is for you.”

Bilbo’s face brightened up as he took it. He looked at it in awe, and his fingers moved over the red leather reverently.

“For your story”, Thorin explained, causing Bilbo to look up. Pressing the notebook to his chest, the hobbit took a step forward. He raised himself on tiptoes and grazed a kiss on Thorin’s cheek, ignoring the sudden whistles that could be heard behind them.

“Thank you”, he said affectionately and linked his arms with Thorin.

They stopped once more at Bombur’s caravan for a bag full of sweet treats, and they quietly nibbled at caramelized nuts and chocolate-covered berries as they continued their walk.

As the sun was setting, many visitors were leaving the market, and some areas had already become quieter. A big crowd, however, was still gathered around a game stall, a can-knockdown. Bilbo and Thorin had already seen some stalls of the same kind, but this one offered special prizes: hand-made toys from Dale. The city was famous for its toys, and the run on the stall was accordingly big.

“Should I try my luck?”, Thorin asked.

“Hm. Aren’t such games often … you know … unfair? Manipulated?” Bilbo chewed thoughtfully on a berry. “The cuddly toys look really pretty, though.”

“Then it is settled.” Thorin wrapped an arm around the hobbit as they walked closer. He leaned towards him, smiling at the way Bilbo’s breath hitched as he did so, and whispered: “You seem to forget who we travelled with. Nori has shown me some tricks.”

Behind the counter, ten tin cans were piled up into a pyramid, and the toys looked down onto them from their shelves. Thorin received three balls – three chances to knock down all cans.

His first throw earned him some applause from the on-lookers as he managed to knock down five cans at once, but he only hit two other cans with the second try. The last throw would be tricky – there were only three cans left, and while one stood on top of the other, the last one stood separately opposite of them. Thorin took a step to the side, and with a twist of his wrist he threw the last ball. It hit the first two cans, and the topmost slid across the table, bumped against the third one and knocked it down.

The people and the shopkeeper applauded, but Bilbo was the most excited of them. He did a little jump, and he beamed when Thorin waved him closer to choose a prize. The hobbit marvelled at the choice with wide eyes, but eventually he pointed on a cuddly toy, and the shopkeeper got it from the shelf for him.

“So it’s the warg for you, Mister!”, he said good-humouredly and handed it over to Bilbo. Said warg looked more like a puppy with its blue beaded eyes, but Bilbo pressed it happily to his chest and nuzzled the white and grey speckled fur. Then he snuggled up to Thorin, his murmured “thank you” almost lost as he gently rubbed his cheek against the dwarf’s shoulder.

It was only when they got themselves something for dinner that the hobbit put his warg into his bag, afraid that it could get stained otherwise. Its fluffy head still peeked out of the bag, though.

By now night had closed in, and colourful lampions had been lit, swinging softly in the breeze. Many stalls and caravans were already closed, and their owners were gathered around bonfires to celebrate the first successful market day. They laughed merrily as they shared food and drink, and somewhere in the distance the sound of a single fiddle rose into the air. It was a sweet and gentle melody, yet of a strength that had both Bilbo and Thorin stop right where they were.

“Thorin …” The hobbit let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him. He reached for the leather cord around his neck, and in the golden light of a lampion Thorin saw two beads that were strung on it. They were made of silver, and there were intricate inlays of a deep green stone. Bilbo put them on his palm and showed them to Thorin. “They are for you. If … if you will allow me …”

Thorin bent down wordlessly, and Bilbo took a strand of his hair and began to braid it. His fingers trembled slightly, but the movements didn’t seem unfamiliar to him, he had obviously practised them.

“This is greenstone”, the hobbit explained quietly, causing Thorin’s heart to hammer painfully in his chest. He knew what that meant, what giving somebody greenstone meant, and he desperately hoped that this meaning hadn’t changed since his youth. He didn’t say a word, though, but waited for Bilbo to say it, to tell him that it was still true.

“There is a belief”, Bilbo said while braiding Thorin’s hair. “When a person wears greenstone on their skin, a part of their soul will pass into it. And gifting someone such a piece of greenstone also means gifting them a part of one’s soul.” He broke off as he closed the first braid with a bead. He let go of it, and the bead brushed against Thorin’s neck, causing his skin to prickle.

“I’m no dwarf”, Bilbo told him as he continued with the second braid, “and I’m no crafter. I can’t return the gift you made for me properly, I’m afraid. You put your heart and soul into crafting the earring for me, and simply buying something for you in turn wouldn’t have the same meaning. But with the greenstone, I’m trying to return your gesture as best as I can.”

He finished the second braid, and Thorin closed his hand around the bead. The metal had slightly warmed under Bilbo’s touch, and it seemed to set something in him ablaze. He let go of the bead so quickly that a shadow flickered across the hobbit’s face.

Thorin, however, cupped it gently. “This is not a gift to give easily”, he said, not able to hide the tremor in his voice.

“So I’ve been told.” Bilbo smiled tenderly at him. His eyes were glassy. “But it feels so easy, gifting it to you.”

Thorin felt a lump in his throat. Bilbo had just gifted him a piece of his soul, his very self. No matter how many eternities passed, Bilbo would forever be with him. Even when the hobbit was long gone, and Thorin had seen thousands of new masters, a part of Bilbo would always stay with him.

His chest ached at this thought. It wasn’t born from grief, though. How could he be grieved – now, when he was here with Bilbo?

The light of moon, stars, and lampions shone on his face, giving him an otherworldly quality that had Thorin wonder if the hobbit was a figure out of fairy tale, not him. It deemed him possible since there was nobody like Bilbo in the whole world. When he had met Bilbo for the first time he had known that they were bond together, but never could he have imagined their bond to be like this – so strong and deep and warm.

The soft melody of the fiddle still hung in the air as he leaned down to kiss Bilbo. This time, it was more than the timid brush of lips against lips they had shared in the morning and on the evening before. It was a firm, warm pressure, mirroring Thorin’s yearning to savour every moment of it. Bilbo leaned into the touch, and he wrapped his hands around Thorin’s neck, thus pulling them closer. There was the faint scent of forget-me-not, and the dwarf felt Bilbo’s beating heart against his chest – or was it his own heart that beat so wonderfully fast?

His hands still lingered on Bilbo’s cheeks, gently caressing them. The hobbit sighed into their kiss, and as his lips parted Thorin deepened it. The sensation stole his breath away. At the same time, however, Bilbo returned something to him – something more. More warmth, more tenderness. More happiness.

They drew apart, both of them inhaling shaky breaths. Bilbo trembled – not with cold, it was still pleasantly warm. Thorin enfolded him in his arms. “ _Agyâdê_ ”, he whispered into Bilbo’s curls, and the hobbit took another shaky breath as he snuggled up to him, resting his head against his chest.

Thorin kept him safe and warm in his embrace while the sound of the fiddle faded away, and he still held Bilbo in his arms when they were back in their little room at the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agyâdê = my happiness
> 
> The story about greenstone isn't my invention, but was told to me when I bought some greenstone jewellery myself in New Zealand. And no, I didn't almost sob when I heard that story for the first time. Not. At. All.
> 
> But look how far the boys made it!! I'm so proud of them :D And thank YOU so much for joining this journey even as far as Dale!


	14. The end of all things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo hasn’t forgotten the promise he gave Thorin on top of the Carrock, and he is determined to find a way into Erebor …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: This chapter comes with angst and a cliffhanger (IamsorryIamsorryIamsorry *aggressively points towards the ‘happy ending’ tag*) The next chapter (with fluff), however, is almost finished and will be updated next weekend already. Therefore you might prefer to wait until next weekend.

The night had grown chill, but Bilbo didn’t feel any cold. There was a crackling fire in front of him … as well as a warm arm curled around his waist.

He smiled quietly to himself as he snuggled closer to Thorin. They sat at one of the many bonfires that had been lit on the festival ground after nightfall, and although there was chatter and laughter around them it felt as if it was just the two of them. It was a wonderful feeling.

With a content sigh, Bilbo stretched his tired feet towards the warmth. It had been another day of travelling and exploring for them. Today they had been to Lake-Town, a busy port less than two hours away from Dale. They had sat on the quay wall, watching ships coming into port and marvelling at the countless goods the sailors had unloaded. Then they had strolled along the shores of the Long Lake before returning to Dale on the late afternoon. They had gotten themselves dinner at the market – they had done so every evening during the last two weeks and yet hadn’t managed to try everything that was offered – before sitting down in front of the bonfire to rest. And, Bilbo knew as he reached for Thorin’s hand to intertwine their fingers, they would fall asleep in each other’s arms just like the nights before.

_Isn’t it funny?_ , he mused. _We’re closer than ever before, yet we talk so little._ Back in Bag End, but also during their journey with the dwarves they had spent hours talking about everything and anything. Now both of them were quiet, but not in a bad way. Neither of them felt the need to talk much, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to put into words how he felt.

He was so happy.

A slight breeze carried some embers away into the night, and Bilbo’s eyes followed them. Even against the dark sky, he could make out the mass of the Lonely Mountain. He tensed at the sight, and not even Thorin patting his arm made him relax.

_If we would find a way to enter without magic, and return safely … Maybe the dwarves would begin to understand. And maybe …_

“I haven’t forgotten”, Bilbo said quietly. “I still remember what I told you on top of the Carrock. About Erebor.” So far their wanderings had never led them further east than to the last stalls of the merchants, but he had noticed how Thorin sometimes looked at the mountain. He knew how much the loss of his home grieved him, and if there was something – anything Bilbo could do about it, then he wanted to give it a try. He wanted to see Thorin happy.

“We will find away in”, he promised. Thorin didn’t answer, but his grip around his waist tightened.

“Tomorrow”, Bilbo whispered.

 

***

 

“Be careful!”

Thorin’s hand quickly wrapped around Bilbo’s wrist, giving him support on the uneven ground. Nonetheless the hobbit almost slipped, and the pebbles that shifted beneath his feet set his heart racing. He clung to Thorin until the sound of rolling stone had ceased.

“Thank you”, he mumbled eventually.

“Are you sure we should go on? It will not get easier.”

Bilbo dismissed Thorin’s worries with a wave of the hand. “Of course we’ll go on! I just have to watch my feet. It seems hobbits aren’t very nimble when it comes to mountainsides.” He did his best to sound cheerful, but the truth was that their surroundings unsettled him.

The slopes of the Lonely Mountain were rough and barren, and there didn’t seem to be any life at all. Only at a closer look he had noticed patches of resilient grass and gnarly bushes. But, considering that the area had been turned into a desolation by dragon-fire already three ages ago, Bilbo felt a lump in his throat, and he was glad for the swords they carried at their sides.

Yet he was determined to find a way into Erebor. He would keep his promise.

Their first destination had been the front gate, but it had been completely sealed by enormous boulders. Even the gigantic statues of two dwarf warriors flanking the gate had barely been recognizable. There was no way to enter the kingdom this way, so they had decided to wander higher up into the mountains.

The dragon had obviously wreaked less havoc up here. Pine trees were clinging to the steep slopes, and some heather added a wonderful patch of colour. The landscape looked far more comforting than the desolation they had crossed earlier.

Bilbo’s attention, however, was drawn to something different.

He stared open-mouthed at the statue that rose out of the mountain flank. He had thought the crumbled ruins at the side of Erebor’s gate to be impressive, but this one left him speechless. Maybe it was because he was just a small hobbit, but to his eyes this dwarf warrior seemed to be at least half as tall as the mountain itself. His stone hands rested upon the hilt of his axe while his eyes were set on the horizon, and there was an almost painful solemnity about this forgotten warrior standing watch over his lost kingdom.

“I remember this place.”

Bilbo turned to look at his djinn. Thorin again only had eyes for the statue, and his pace quickened as he approached its foot. “I remember”, he repeated. “Such statues often hid secret passages. The scouts used them to leave and enter the mountain without being seen.” A grin appeared on his face. “And I may have used them to sneak out of the mountain as well.”

“You’ve never told me of that! You’ll have to catch up on it.”

“Tonight at dinner?”

The hobbit showed him a smile. “Two stories. At least.”

Together they approached the statue, and eventually they stood in front of the enormous boulders that made up the warrior’s boots. Wind and weather had worn many of the masonry works off, but some details were still recognizable. Bilbo put his head into his neck, still impressed with the sheer height. But then he took a closer look at the axe the warrior carried.

“Are those steps?”, he asked with a frown. They were hewn into the rock, and from far away they had looked like ornaments on the axe’s hilt. “They’re not very well hidden, if you ask me.”

“Not everybody has such keen eyes as you”, Thorin teased him, and the excitement in his voice made Bilbo’s heart lighter. “Shall we have a closer look?”

The hobbit nodded, but he almost regretted his eagerness as he realized that they had to climb. The stairs only begun a few metres above their heads, and he hadn’t climbed since he had been a child and wanted to get some apples or cherries from high branches. With Thorin’s help, however, he managed to reach the steps without even a bruise. It was too early to be relieved, though: Most of the steps didn’t prove much easier than the rocky wall. They were covered with dust and rubble, and Bilbo took great care where to set his feet.

His knees felt rather wobbly when they finally reached a rocky outcrop. A thrush, startled by their sudden appearance, fled from them. Bilbo looked after the small bird, marvelling at the sight he was offered. They were far above the ground now, and the land seemed to stretch endlessly beneath him. The mountainous area was mostly barren, but from up here the hobbit could spot more patches of heather, and the market plain west of Dale was a cluster of colourful spots. Beyond the city, he could see the Long Lake glistening in the midday sun.

Suddenly he was reminded of the first journey he and Thorin had undertaken – if it could be called a journey at all since it had been the djinn’s power that had taken them inside the tower of Elostirion. He still remembered how deeply the sight of the sea had moved him. Back then he had never seen anything but the Shire … and by now he had been to so many different places. Yet, thinking back, it wasn’t the sight of foreign hills and plains and lakes he treasured the most, but the one who had always been at his side. The one who had grown so dear to him with every step they had taken together.

“Thorin?”

The dwarf had been studying the wall, but he turned towards him as soon as he heard Bilbo’s croaky voice. He looked worried, ready to reach out to him, and Bilbo’s throat constricted at the sight. He had wanted to say something, to remind Thorin of how happy he was that they were here together, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter any word. Instead he coughed. “Seems like a dead end”, he mumbled eventually.

The concern in Thorin’s eyes didn’t disappear completely, but his face brightened up nonetheless. “It is supposed to look like that”, he said, the pride in his voice barely hidden.

Bilbo stared at him. “You’ve found a way in?”

Instead of answering him, Thorin went back to the wall. His hands moved across the surface before he pressed them flat against it. The muscles in his arms and back tensed as he pushed against the wall.

Nothing seemed to happen at first, but then Bilbo could hear the scrunching of stone as well as the rippling of dust, and suddenly a black crack appeared in the stone. The dwarf pushed further, and a stone slab slid back to reveal an entrance.

“There’s a door indeed!”, Bilbo cried, tugging at Thorin’s sleeve with excitement. “We just have to follow it and make sure that it won’t lead to a dead end, and … and …”

“I know”, he answered softly and gave Bilbo’s hand a squeeze. “Shall we go inside?”

Bilbo watched with fondness how reverently the djinn stepped into the mountain. For a moment he stood at the threshold, taking a deep breath before going further, and the hobbit followed him.

After a few steps, the corridor rounded a corner and led downstairs. The light from outside didn’t reach that far, so they waited until their eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. Only then they began the descent.

The stairs led them down, down, down, and it seemed to take them an eternity to reach their foot. Here the corridor split, but the path to the right was blocked by rubble. There were more barred paths as they moved on, but they also came to crossroads were more than one way was clear. Bilbo was already worrying how they should find the way back, but Thorin assured him that he wouldn’t lose his way inside of Erebor. Bilbo trusted his words, and they chose their path randomly, wandering ever deeper into the mountain.

Just like during their first visit to Erebor, they could spot traces of Smaug’s inferno. From time to time they saw burn or claw marks, but Bilbo thought that the hallways and chambers they moved through weren’t as much damaged as the places he remembered.

They had just walked past a dried up fountain and entered another corridor when Bilbo spotted something on the ground. He stopped to pick it up. It was a coin, but the patina on it was so thick he couldn’t tell the material it was made of. He noticed more coins that were spread on the floor.

“Are we approaching the treasury?”, he asked quietly.

“It did not use to be here”, Thorin answered with a shake of his head. “Maybe he has brought everything in another chamber.” He fell silent again. Bilbo knew that the memory of the dragon weighed heavily upon his djinn, and he didn’t press him to speak.

They continued their way through the corridor’s darkness, the rubble crunching under their feet. Eventually Bilbo thought to feel a very soft breeze on his face, but it was too weak to bring a fresh scent with it. Instead the air was stuffy, and Bilbo didn’t like the scent of cold stone and dust.

Nonetheless they quickened their pace, and both of them stared in wonder as the passageway suddenly opened into a vast hall. They stepped onto the bridge that spanned the room, their heads put into their necks as they took in the sight of polished green marble. The chamber was enormous, and the ceiling was lost in the darkness high above their heads. 

Bilbo was enthralled by the sight, and it took him some while before he looked at the path again. He stopped as soon as he saw the sea of gold and precious trinkets beneath the bridge, his eyes wide at the sheer wealth. Then his gaze wandered on, and suddenly his heart stopped.

They had found the dragon.

Stricken with terror, both of them staggered back. Coins, covered with a thick patina, shifted under their hasty feet, rolled over the edge of the bridge and fell into the deep. Their clanking sounded like thunderclaps in the vast hall, and each of them had Bilbo flinch. His stomach twisted into an icy knot, and his eyes rushed to the dragon, fearing to witness how it cracked its eyes open, stretched its wings and revealed spear-like teeth –

But the dragon would never stir again. Only slowly, fighting against the fear that had taken hold of him, the hobbit realized that he was looking at a skeleton. The dragon’s hide was ash-grey as if covered with layers and layers of dust. No fire glowed inside of it any longer, and its claws were blunt and dull with the age of centuries. Still the dragon was gigantic, and the knowledge that it was dead didn’t give Bilbo much comfort.

He reached for Thorin’s hand. It was sticky with cold sweat, and a look in the djinn’s face had Bilbo guess at how terrifying the sight was for him – the sight of the one who had brought so much suffering about him and his people. He gave his hand a squeeze and thus attracted his attention. His throat constricted as he saw the pain in Thorin’s eyes, but Bilbo managed to show him a weak smile. He nodded towards the door they had come through. The dwarf understood, and cautiously they began their retreat.

They had only taken one step when the world shook around them. Dust crumbled from the pillars, and Bilbo lost his grip around Thorin’s hand as the ground quaked. He fell to his knees and cut his hand on some stone sliver, but quickly struggled back to his feet. The vast hall was filled with the clanking of thousands upon thousands of trinkets.

And yet the gnarly voice was loud enough to drown them all out.

“So you have come back in the end.”

Bilbo watched in horror how the dragon cracked a giant eye open. It was dull and grey, half-blind with age; he didn’t think that such eyes could still see anything. The dragon barely had the strength to open its mouth to speak; the hobbit only saw a glimpse of sharp teeth the colour of withered bone. Its voice was raspy yet piercing enough to shake him to his very core.

“How amusing that you have returned, and that we meet again before the end.”

Smaug wasn’t dead. He was dying, but right now there was still life left within him.

Bilbo turned to look at his dwarf. All colour had left Thorin’s face, he was pale as chalk. He stood frozen, not the slightest tremor shook his body. His eyes were full of horror, but he was unable to tear them away from his nightmare.

Bilbo staggered towards him and reached for his hand. “Thorin”, he said with a trembling voice, “I wish we were back in our inn in Dale.”

His words seemed to shake Thorin up. He nodded jerkily, but before he could do anything else the hall was filled with the dragon’s roaring laughter.

“Fools! Do you think you can escape with a wish from me – the one who has cast the spell upon the princeling? You – will – stay!”

Bilbo watched Thorin with growing horror. He looked as if he had been punched, and he made no further intention to use his powers. The hobbit squeezed his hand, but the djinn showed no reaction. He stood still like a statue, bound by the dragon’s will.

Smaug’s blind eyes watched them. “Now that my own life is coming to an end”, he hissed, and there seemed to be a strange melancholy, almost a softness to his voice, “I have sometimes thought about you, dwarf prince. I wondered if you were labouring as a slave somewhere, or if you were trapped in the oppressive darkness of your tiny phial, with its walls closing in on you.”

Bilbo looked with wide eyes at the djinn, shocked to witness how tiny and fragile he seemed.

Suddenly Smaug began to cackle, and the sound of grinding gravel made Bilbo stagger backward and cover his ears with his hands. It was futile, however, and the laughter made him tremble with fear.

“Oh, the many delightful hours I spent wondering about the lowly tasks you might perform right now! Did some master wish for you to take care of his household, and you were sweeping the floor like the poor disinherited prince in a fairy tale, but with no happy ending in sight? Were you hiding in the darkness, a dagger ready in your hand to cut the throat of a master’s enemy? Or did someone have pity with your pretty face and told you to warm his bed? The once so mighty prince brought low, just like the rest of his people …” A pale tongue flicked out between still sharp teeth. “What a feast they were!”

“Thorin!” With gritted teeth, Bilbo bridged the distance between them and wrapped his hands around the djinn’s arm, trying to offer him any scrap of comfort and support he could give. He swallowed heavily as Thorin didn’t react to his touch, didn’t even look at him. “Thorin, don’t listen to him. He’s spreading poison. Listen to me instead. You’re nothing of that. You’re noble, even without a crown and a kingdom, and brave and –”

The sound of rolling thunder filled the hall as the dragon chuckled once more. “Is this your current master? How nice he seems … Does he take good care of you? Yes? What a pity it would be if something happened to him …”

Bilbo’s heart froze at this threat, but he tried his best not to let his fear show. Thorin in turn stared at the hobbit now, and it was as if he saw him properly for the first time since the dragon had begun to speak. His blue eyes widened with terror, and he pushed Bilbo away from him. Then he fumbled for the sword at his belt and threw it away, down into the treasure hoard. The weapon slid over jewels and coins, but the sound was lost amongst the dragon’s laughter.

“You have just made this game even more exciting!” Smaug’s amusement ebbed away, and his voice was cold as steel when he spoke again. “I order you to get down here, grab this sword and then … then you will kill your precious master.”

Bilbo heard the words, but he couldn’t understand their meaning. As he looked up into Thorin’s face he even forgot about the dragon. The pain in Thorin’s eyes hurt like a knife to his heart.

“Thorin …?”, he whispered.

The djinn swallowed. “Run”, he breathed hoarsely. Then, louder, a desperate command: “Run!”

And Bilbo ran. He fled across the bridge, not knowing where he should run to. But his feet moved, moved, moved. His heart was pounding fast and his chest was heaving, but his mind was strangely empty. It was as if it took all his strength to run, and he had no energy left to string together a single thought. A tiny part of him knew, however, that he should be glad for not being able to think properly. So he fled along corridors, up staircases and through chambers without any goal. Just away from the dragon.

Suddenly Bilbo felt a breeze on his face, gentle like a caress. It seemed to knock all air out of his body. He stumbled and fell to his knees, but he didn’t get up. Instead he stayed where he was, gasping for breath. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes, and he forced himself to inhale until his breathing calmed.

His heart, however, was still beating frantically.

He knew where he was. He knew the dust-covered and broken mosaic beneath his trembling hands. He knew the crack running from the ceiling across the outer wall.

He knew the fragile sapling growing in the midst of the chamber.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and for long minutes he refused to look up and acknowledge the truth. Eventually he gave in, though. He got up slowly, but instead of moving on he stayed where he was, staring blankly into the air. His heartbeat refused to calm down, however, and he bit his lips until he tasted blood.

Eventually footsteps were approaching him. They stopped, and only then Bilbo turned around to look into Thorin’s grieved face. The djinn seemed years older, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the hilt of the drawn sword.

Bilbo knew that he should be afraid, but he wasn’t. This was Thorin! How could he ever be afraid of Thorin? Several images rushed through his mind, threatening to choke him: Thorin sitting in his armchair back in Bag End, his face lit by the sunlight as he gingerly browsed through their books; his warm, broad hands covering Bilbo’s as they planted the acorn in the very same chamber; those fingers gently carding through Bilbo’s hair and stroking his back, slowly lulling him into sleep …

“Thorin …”, he began, as voiceless as down in the treasury.

The djinn took a step forward. “Master Baggins”, he said, and hearing him use this address hurt more than Bilbo could ever have imagined.

Another step. “The dragon has sent me to … to …” His voice cracked.

“I know”, Bilbo whispered. There was so much he wanted to tell Thorin. That he knew that there wasn’t any way for them to escape this situation, and that the djinn had no choice. That the curse had proved to be stronger than them. That Thorin shouldn’t blame himself. But no words passed his lips. He only stood there, waiting silently until the djinn stood in front of him, just within reach.

“Bilbo …” Thorin trembled. “I … I cannot do this.”

He sank to his knees and offered Bilbo his sword. His eyes were fixed on the hobbit as he said: “I will not do this.”

His words hadn’t even faded when he uttered a piercing cry. The sword hit the ground with a loud clang as Thorin collapsed. He writhed in pain, but no further sound came upon his lips.

The horrible cry still echoed in Bilbo’s ears as he sank to the ground. He reached for the dwarf, but hesitated, afraid of touching and hurting him. His throat constricted as he looked at the trembling figure and remembered the horrible scar at his side – the one he had suffered as he had once tried to reject a master’s wish.

Suddenly he heard a choked “Bilbo”. It tore his heart apart to hear his name like this, but he finally found the courage to gather the dwarf in his arms.

“I’m here”, he whispered, “I’m here, Thorin. It’s me, Bilbo. I’m here for you.” He continued to say soothing vanities although his voice was about to break. “I’m here, Thorin. Just stay with me. Please. Stay with me.”

With shaking fingers, Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand. He gave him something small, and as Bilbo looked down he noticed a fragile bead on his palm. It was wrought from silver, and there were inlays of greenstone in it. Thorin had given him one of his beads – a part of his soul, something that would always be with him.

Bilbo’s cheeks were wet as he gently cupped Thorin’s face and raised it to look at it. The sight shattered his heart: Thorin’s face was covered in thin dark lines, almost like cracks in the surface of a vase … or a phial.

Nonetheless Thorin’s eyes watched him fondly, and he showed Bilbo a tiny smile. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head against the hobbit’s chest. Bilbo combed his fingers through his matted hair, the caress giving him something to hold on to, something to prevent him from breaking down.

All of a sudden the tension in Thorin’s shoulders eased. Bilbo’s name came over his lips, quiet, almost like a sigh, and then he stilled.

Suddenly there was a loud clash, as if a vase hit the ground and shattered. The next moment Bilbo’s arms were empty. He stared at the blank space, his chest aching with a pain he couldn’t understand yet. His fingers were clutched around the bead.

Then the mountain shook with the dragon’s dying laughter. It woke something in Bilbo. Dazed and blind with tears, he staggered to his feet.

And then he ran again.

He stumbled on, not knowing or caring where he ran to. Just away. Away from the mountain, the dragon, this nightmare, away. Sharp rocks cut into his feet, but he didn’t flinch. He stumbled and fell, but he got up again. Not even the feeling of fresh air and the evening sun on his face made him stop.

The Lonely Mountain was already far behind him when his legs gave in beneath his body, he fell to the ground and wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.


	15. And you'll be here in my arms

“You know”, Primula began as they walked up the hill, her arm linked with Drogo’s, “I don’t agree with Dora often, but Bag End _is_ vast. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful home…”

It was a wonderful sight on this golden autumn day indeed. The flowers were still in bloom, but the leaves of the great oak tree had already begun to change their colours to deep reds and yellows. The bright green door was another beautiful dab of colour. Both of them knew, however, how quiet it was inside – especially with its only inhabitant gone on an adventure.

“It must be lonely sometimes”, Primula added quietly.

“Maybe Bilbo thought the same”, Drogo remarked as he opened the garden door for her. “It would explain his wish to go travelling.”

The whole of Hobbiton had been shocked to hear that the formerly so respectable Mr Baggins of Bag End had suddenly decided to go running off into an adventure. Some had wondered if there was any connection between his decision and the visit of a certain wizard with a bad reputation, ignoring the fact that Mr Baggins had started on his journey several months after Gandalf’s cart had driven up Bagshot Row. Others, however, whispered that this madness hadn’t come unexpected. It wasn’t a secret that Mr Baggins had acted very odd ever since his sickness, and not a single inhabitant of Hobbiton had forgotten the coins of gold pouring out of his pockets, of course.

Primula and Drogo had both noticed the changes in him very well, but they hadn’t been too concerned. It was true that Bilbo had become somewhat unsociable, but he had never deemed them unhappy – quite the contrary, he had laughed more often than ever since his parents had passed away. He had seemed happy.

His wish to go travelling wasn’t that much of a surprise for them as well. He was half a Took, after all. His desire to see the world outside of the Shire had always been there. But it had grown in strength, and not even the prospect of their wedding in spring had convinced him to at least postpone his journey. He had simply smiled at them and had wished them all the best. Then he had handed them the key to Bag End so they could see if everything was alright from time to time.

“I wonder if he will return soon, now that summer has passed”, Primula said.

“And what a wonderful summer it was”, Drogo added, and they both smiled fondly at each other as they entered Bag End.

They barely stood in the entrance hall when they heard a loud noise – a chair being pushed backwards hastily, its legs scrapping over the wooden floor. Footsteps rushed towards them, causing them to take a step back.

“Thorin?”

Suddenly Bilbo dashed into the hall. His eyes were wide, and his face was full of such a wild hope that Primula almost mistook him for a stranger in the first moment. When he saw them, however, his whole composure crumbled, and his eyes became clouded.

“Oh. Hello”, he greeted them, his voice not bearing any emotion.

Primula reached for Drogo’s arm to support herself. She couldn’t believe how _diminished_ Bilbo looked. He was pale and haggard, a mere shadow of the hobbit who had started on his journey with twinkling eyes.

“Bilbo!”, Drogo said friendly, trying to cover his shock. “We didn’t know you were already back!”

“Welcome home”, Primula added although the sight of Bilbo’s haunted eyes made her cringe. “I hope we aren’t coming at an inconvenient time – after all you seem to expect a guest …?”

She knew instantly that she had said something terribly wrong. Bilbo stared at her, and he seemed to be at the verge of tears. Suddenly he staggered, but Drogo was at his side to support him within seconds. Primula hurried to him as well, and together they brought him into the parlour. There they put him into one of the armchairs, but something about their help only made him more distraught, and he sobbed helplessly.

Both of them spoke patiently to him, trying to figure out what had happened to put him into such a state. It wasn’t easy for them to make sense out of the babbled fragments, and it was even more difficult since Bilbo was clearly overwhelmed. But between his sobs and hiccups they gathered that he had not only joined a group of travelling dwarves – what would have been scandalous enough and would definitely cause all tongues in Hobbiton to wag –, but that he had also fallen in love with one of them. And this special dwarf had obviously left him. “He’s gone”, Bilbo repeated in a breaking voice, “he’s gone, and I can’t do anything about it.”

He buried his head in his hands, and Primula and Drogo exchanged sorrowful glances. Bilbo was so devastated he barely knew what he said. Many parts of his story didn’t make any sense – for example he talked as if this dwarf had been with him in Bag End. He couldn’t be left alone in such a state, and they nodded at each other.

“Bilbo”, Primula said softly, “you can’t sit here in Bag End like this. Come with us. We will take care of you.”

Her cousin sobbed, but he didn’t protest as they helped him up, and they could lead him to the door like a tiny child.

 

***

 

Bilbo loved his cousins dearly, but he hated staying with them.

They took care of him lovingly. He had a warm bed in their bright guestroom, they told him everything that had happened in the Shire during his absence, and, knowing that he suffered from a broken heart, the newly-weds tried not to show their affection too clearly in front of him. But Bilbo could see how they looked at each other, he could hear them speaking softly when they thought he was asleep, and it felt like a knife to his heart. Sometimes he cursed them for their happiness, and then he was afraid of himself.

But it was even worse when he didn’t feel anything else but the ache.

Bilbo quickly decided that he wanted to return to Bag End. He knew that Primula and Drogo wouldn’t let him go as long as he looked like the mere ghost of a hobbit, though. So he ate every dish they put in front of him although it tasted like ash in his mouth, he smiled at them although his face hurt with the effort, and at night he hid his face in the pillows so they wouldn’t hear him cry with pain and longing.

Finally he had convinced them that he was feeling better again, and they let him return home. Now he stood in the silent entrance hall of Bag End and didn’t know where he should turn to.

Bilbo had longed for this moment, to finally get away from the domestic bliss of his friends, but he had also dreaded it, fearing the memories being in Bag End would bring. Now he felt strangely numb, though. He wandered aimlessly through the hallways and rooms, not caring that the autumn sun outside sank and drew darkness upon his home.

Eventually his feet led him into the parlour, and he stopped when he stood in front of Thorin’s armchair. He stared at it as if he was expecting to see the dwarf appear in it any moment. Maybe he had just gone into the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea …

He felt a lump in his throat, but no tears welled up in his eyes. It seemed he hadn’t any of them left inside of him. He reached out to run the tips of his fingers over the fabric before he curled himself up in the armchair, desperately hoping for a last impression of Thorin’s scent, of his warmth. But months had passed since the dwarf had sat in his chair, and every trace of him was gone.

Thorin was gone.

Bilbo swallowed heavily, and he hid his face in his arms, trying to block out the cold and empty room. The image of Thorin sitting in the very same armchair, reading one of the travel journals he cherished so much, rose into his mind so clearly as if he had seen him minutes before, and it accompanied him into a fitful sleep.

This night he didn’t dream of Thorin, but he often saw him when he closed his eyes, and sometimes he even saw him with his eyes open.

The first time it happened was on his birthday. Primula and Drogo had invited him for dinner, and although Bilbo was unwilling to leave Bag End at all he couldn’t find an excuse to decline their offer. He knew that they meant well, so he searched for some mathoms he could present to them as gifts and put on a cheery face. He somehow managed it through the evening, but when he was finally home again he closed the door and sank against it with a shaky exhale. His head dropped to his chest as he took several deep breaths to gather himself.

When he looked up again he saw Thorin.

The djinn was leaning against the door frame like he had exactly a year ago. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and the silver around his wrists and ankles gleamed. But he didn’t make a bow to wish Bilbo a happy birthday. Instead he looked at him, his face earnest, almost grim.

Then Bilbo blinked, and Thorin disappeared.

All strength seemed to leave Bilbo’s body, and he sank to the floor. For long moments he just stared at the spot where he had seen Thorin. His throat constricted. Last year they had gone into the kitchen. He had cooked for his djinn, and then he had presented him with the clothes he had tailored for him, and Thorin had played the harp for him –

The music Thorin had played for him. The melody – he couldn’t remember it. He still remembered him playing, with his head bowed and his eyes almost closed, but he had forgotten the tune. He scoured his memory for the melody, but his growing despair made it impossible to gather a single thought. He sobbed as he couldn’t restrain himself any longer and hid his face in his arms. How could this have happened? Why couldn’t he remember something that was so dear to his heart?

“I’m so sorry, Thorin”, he whispered. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on going into Erebor …” He rose his weary head, but Thorin didn’t appear again, no matter how long Bilbo stared at the spot where he had stood moments before. Eventually he gave up, and he staggered into bed to fall into another restless sleep.

Time didn’t pass in a sequence of days and nights for Bilbo, but in a row of such phases of fitful sleep and walking around in a daze. Some days were … okay, and he managed to get up, dress properly, and eat a little. Sometimes he even left Bag End for a short walk or a necessary trip to the market. His pantry was shockingly empty for hobbit standards nonetheless. He didn’t feel very hungry, though, but ate at least enough to keep himself on his feet.

The worst days, however, were the ones Bilbo found himself sitting at his writing desk, like tonight.

The desk was covered with shards – the remnants of Thorin’s phial. It had simply shattered inside of Bilbo’s pocket, and he had frantically searched it in order not to miss even the tiniest scrap. There were countless shards, some of them smaller than his fingernails, but he fought back the idea that he might have lost one on his desperate flight back into the Shire. He didn’t remember much of this journey back home than walking until his feet were as numb as the rest of him, and the frantic hope that the distance to Erebor might lessen the pain.

Another frantic hope had taken hold of him now. Thorin had told him that he was bound to the phial. So if Bilbo repaired it, he would return to him, right? That was how his magic worked. If the phial was unharmed, so was Thorin. It had to be like this. He just had to put the broken pieces back together. He bent forward until he almost touched the shards with his nose, trying to figure out which ones could fit together. He picked up one of the larger pieces. There was a thin fissure on its surface, and the hobbit almost dropped the shard again as he was reminded of the dark lines that had covered Thorin’s face.

And then, in a strangely clear moment, Bilbo realized that, no matter how much he wished for it, he couldn’t put the phial back together.

He remembered the day Thorin had been hurt because of a scratch to the bottle, and he also remembered the many white lines of thin scars on his skin. And how Thorin had smiled at him in the chamber high up in Erebor despite his pain ... If he really repaired the phial – what would become of Thorin? How would shards, barely held together by glue, affect him? A tiny scratch had hurt him so badly, and this would hurt him even more, and …

Maybe it was better if Thorin was gone.

Bilbo gently touched the silver bead with the greenstone inlays he wore on a leather cord around his neck. His fingers trembled, but he couldn’t deny the truth. Thorin had suffered so long, so endlessly long. Three Ages without his family and friends, or even someone who saw more in him than a servant or some useful thing … And who could tell what would happen to him after Bilbo was gone? He would have to return into the phial’s darkness, and then … Maybe there would be more horrible masters to follow after the hobbit, treating his beloved djinn like a slave for three more ages, or even until the world was rebuilt.

It was better that Thorin had been released.

Bilbo sobbed. How horrible was it to think about a person – and not just any person, but Thorin – like that? To think that it was better for them to be gone? To be de- He bit his lips. No, he wouldn’t think of him like that.

But he couldn’t deny the truth: It was better like this.

He stayed at his desk for a long time, staring blankly at the shards and feeling cold and miserable. He didn’t know how, but eventually he found his way into bed.

When he woke up in the early hours of the morning, Thorin was at his side. Bilbo almost laughed bitterly. Was his imagination merciful or cruel to let him see Thorin like this, lying next to him and watching him like he had done in that wonderful night in Dale? With his eyes so tender, and a gentle smile upon his lips …

“I’m so sorry”, Bilbo said quietly like he had often done during the last weeks whenever he saw a vision of his djinn. “I’m sorry you had to suffer because I’m so selfish. I was eager to find a way to break your curse, or at least to give you back Erebor in some way. I wanted to see you happy, and I wanted to be the one to make you happy. But I only hurt you.” He let out a choked sob. “Even now I’m selfish. I know that you found your peace, but I’m selfish enough to think about repairing the phial anyway!”

Thorin watched him wordlessly while he talked. Grief stood in his blue eyes, but Bilbo saw no reproach in them. He thought that he would feel somewhat better if he was confronted with anger.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears began to blur Bilbo’s vision. “I didn’t even tell you that I love you.”

Suddenly Thorin reached for his cheek. His touch was gentle, barely more than the graze of thistledown against Bilbo’s skin. “There is no need to tell me with words”, Thorin said, his voice soft. “I can tell from the way you look at me. Say my name. Kiss me.”

Bilbo leaned into the touch. He hardly dared to breathe. So far, Thorin had never spoken to him, and he hadn’t reached out to him neither. And … and …

“But I understand what you mean.” Thorin smiled at him. “I love you”, he whispered and bridged the distance between them to kiss Bilbo.

His caress was warm, gentle – and real. For a long moment Bilbo wasn’t able to react, but then he pressed desperately against him. Countless questions rushed through his head, but not a single one was important in that moment. Instead he reached for Thorin’s face to stroke it, and his fingers trembled as he felt the silver bead that was woven into his hair.

They broke away, and the hobbit took a shuddering breath. “I love you”, he panted and kissed Thorin again. Thorin’s lips were soft beneath his, and Bilbo felt hot tears streaming down his face as he tasted the sweetness he had thought to have lost forever. He put his heart into the kiss, baring every piece of it to Thorin until he had to draw back again. “I love you”, he repeated before leaning forward for another kiss.

The dwarf returned the caresses with the same yearning, but as they separated for the third time he drew back a little. “Take a breath, my heart”, he said while his thumb moved over Bilbo’s cheek, tenderly wiping away his tears. “We have got all time in the world.”

“So it’s true?”, Bilbo whispered. “You have returned to me?”

“I have.”

“But … but how?” He reached for Thorin’s face again to feel its familiar features beneath his palm. A part of him was still afraid that he might wake up any moment to find out that it had been a dream after all. Thorin seemed to know what he was feeling, and he covered the hobbit’s hand on his cheek with his own, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“I am not sure”, he admitted eventually, and a frown appeared between his brows. “I remember feeling your arms around me and hearing your heartbeat. Then the darkness closed in around me, and … I do not remember much of what happened then next. There was darkness, nothing else. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a bed in a caravan, with Óin at my side. I was very sick, he told me. The dwarves had found me in Erebor.”

“In Erebor?”, Bilbo repeated astonished. “They dared to enter it?”

The dwarf nodded. “It seems there were several earthquakes on the day we entered Erebor which could be felt in Dale as well. The people were concerned and wanted to investigate the matter, and some of our dwarves joined them. I think they knew we went into the mountain. I cannot imagine they would have entered it otherwise. There they found me, unconscious and fevering.” Thorin swallowed. “Dís and her company took care of me, but for a long time they did not know if I would make it.”

Bilbo eyed him with concern. He looked rather lean indeed. “You need to regain strength. I have to cook for you”, he mumbled before bursting into a merry laugh. “I have to cook for you again!”

But Thorin’s face stayed earnest, and he gripped Bilbo’s hand tighter. “Nobody could tell me what had happened to you. The things in our room in the inn were untouched. But you were gone.”

“I’m so sorry”, Bilbo mumbled miserably. “I should have stopped for a moment to think. But I thought I had lost you, and I was so afraid. I just ran away, and … and …”

Thorin pulled him to his chest to soothe him, and Bilbo inhaled deeply. Thorin’s warmth surrounded him, and he snuggled closer to him as he felt broad hands caressing his back.

“Nothing is lost”, the dwarf whispered into his ear. “I took your handkerchiefs with me, and your red notebook … and your little warg.”

Bilbo didn’t answer, but hid his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck.

They stayed like this for a while before the dwarf continued his story, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “The company stayed long at Dale, even longer than the fair lasted. They made sure I would be strong enough to travel. I owe them more than I can put into words, Bilbo. Nonetheless I left them at Khazad-dûm. I was finally strong enough to journey on my own, and I knew that I would be faster than their caravans if I had a pony. I could not wait any longer. I had to know if you had returned home and –”

“I’m here”, Bilbo whispered and leaned forward to kiss him.

Before they touched, however, Thorin blurted out: “I think I am not a djinn anymore.”

Surprised, the hobbit sat up and blinked at him. “What?”

“I am not sure”, Thorin confessed. He still lay on his side and looked up at Bilbo with worried eyes. “We have to find out. Please, make a wish.”

After a moment of thinking, Bilbo motioned towards the lamp on the bedside table. “I wish it was lit.”

Nothing happened, but the hobbit couldn’t believe this had to mean anything. Slowly he shook his head. “I don’t think this proves anything, Thorin. After all, I do not own your phial any longer – it has been broken. And …”, he clenched his fists as the terrifying helplessness he had felt in Erebor returned to him, “I could not utter a wish in the most important moment. I don’t think I’m the master anymore. It’s …” _The dragon_ , he wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. _He has taken you from me, and he will do so again if he’s given the chance._

“No.” Thorin’s voice was quiet, but determined. “The dragon is dead. Dwalin told me that it was dead when they entered Erebor. I even saw its corpse myself. As soon as I could walk again, I went into Erebor with him, Dís, and her sons. I had to see. To know that you were not there. Now I am sure that I am not anyone’s djinn anymore.”

Bilbo stared at him in wonder. “You’re a dwarf now? Simply a dwarf?”

“Please”, Thorin sounded almost desperate. “I may have lost my powers, but I promise to fulfil all your wishes. You do not even have to say them aloud. I will read them from your lips, from your very eyes –”

He stopped as Bilbo reached out to him and cradled his cheek. “I’ve uttered countless wishes”, he said softly as he looked down on his dwarf, “but the only one that matters to me is to see you happy.”

Thorin smiled back at him, his eyes glassy with emotion. “I am happy.”

Bilbo leaned down to capture his lips in kiss, slow and lingering, savouring every detail to the fullest: soft lips, the light scratch of beard, the warmth. Without interrupting their kiss, he placed a hand on Thorin’s chest and nudged him to lie on his back while he himself moved until he straddled him. The dwarf’s soft gasp against his lips had them draw apart for a moment, and Bilbo looked at Thorin with fond eyes.

He was looking up at him, the affection in his blue eyes so clear that Bilbo’s heart ached. His body was warm and solid beneath him, real. As real as the smile that tugged at the corners of his own mouth.

He bent down and gave him another lingering kiss, smiling against the softness of Thorin’s mouth. Then, barely lifting his lips from Thorin’s, Bilbo whispered: “Then let me try to make you a bit happier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is - the happy ending I promised! :)
> 
> The chapter's title, by the way, is a line from "Into the West" - And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping" ... which is, I think, I nice contrast to the angst I put you all (including Bilbo and Thorin). Apologies for that again, and I hope you like the fluff of this chapter ^-^
> 
> Please also note: We're not done yet! There are some questions that need to be answered - a wizard might be handy for that, don't you agree? ;)


	16. The gift of a gentle heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf comes to Hobbiton for a visit, which means that there will be some answers ... and fireworks, definitely fireworks.

It was a spring day just like in a picture book, and the sun shone warm on Gandalf’s back as he made his way up Bagshot Row. The sweet scent of roses hung in the air as he approached the garden of Bag End, and he noticed how splendid the flowers looked this year. It seemed Bilbo had outdone himself – he was a talented gardener, no matter how much he tried to play his skills down. His only problem – and Belladonna had agreed with the wizard about that – was that he was rather lazy when it came to basic tasks like digging up or weeding. He obviously had overcome his aversion this year, though, and the wizard enjoyed the sight of the colourful flowers as he went towards the door.

His steps were accompanied by the excited giggles of children, and he smiled to himself. Some people thought that hobbits were a folk that was only slow to react, but news travelled incredibly fast in this part of the world – he had hardly emptied his pint of ale in the Green Dragon when the first curious children had gathered to see him. Gandalf knew what a perfect host Bilbo would be even to an unexpected guest like him, but the prospect of the famous ale had been too tempting, especially after the long time he had spent on the road. He had left his horse and his cart at the inn, and then he had gotten on his way to Bag End.

“Mr Gandalf”, one of the children suddenly peeped – despite their curiosity, they had kept some respectful distance as they had followed him. “If you’re looking for Mr Baggins, he’s not inside. He’s in the back garden, together with his dwarf.”

Gandalf was tempted to raise his eyebrows at that, but he showed the children a smile. “In the back garden, you say? Well, thank you.”

The little hobbits looked at him, probably expecting some kind of magic to happen any moment. He met their gazes with a friendly face before he nodded at them and turned to move on. He could hear disappointed murmuring, but it turned into surprised squeals as some colourful sparks sprang from the top of his staff. He chuckled and continued his way.

The back garden consisted mainly of patches with vegetables and herbs. Some mossy steps, however, led further on to the oak tree atop the hill. Gandalf followed them, but as soon as he had reached the head of the stairs he stopped and smiled at the sight in front of him.

Bilbo was sitting in the grass with his back against the tree’s trunk. One of his hands held a book, and the other was tangled in the hair of the dwarf whose head rested in his lap. Apart from his broad frame, he looked more like a hobbit than a dwarf, clad in green and bare-footed as he was. He looked very peaceful in his sleep, though, and the deep lines Gandalf remembered seemed to have disappeared from his face altogether.

Suddenly Bilbo looked up. “Gandalf!”, he said in a quiet, but pleased voice. “What a wonderful surprise! I didn’t expect you to visit.” He made a vague gesture with his book. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m not getting up to great you properly.”

“My dear Bilbo”, the wizard said as he stepped closer, “I thought you meant to keep your djinn a secret.”

“And I kept my djinn a secret”, the hobbit replied. “But I see no reason why I should keep my dwarf a secret.”

Gandalf leaned on his staff. “It seems you have a story or two to tell.”

“We have indeed. I’m really glad to see you, Gandalf. I’ve got a lot of questions.” Bilbo looked down on the slumbering dwarf and tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. He did so with utmost tenderness, but when he spoke again there was a tense edge to his voice that surprised the wizard. “Thorin isn’t a djinn anymore.”

The dwarf began to stir as he heard his name. Lazily he opened his eyes, and a gentle smile bloomed on his face as he looked up to Bilbo. He seemed to notice the tiny frown between his brows at once, though, and already rose into a sitting position before his gaze found the wizard.

“Gandalf”, he greeted him with a nod of his head.

“Good day, Thorin”, the wizard replied. “Bilbo just told me that your days as a djinn are over. I hope you don’t mind me being so direct, but would you tell me more about how it came to that? I admit that I’m terribly curious.”

The dwarf exchanged a glance with Bilbo, and it was the hobbit who began to speak. He told Gandalf of their journey with the merchants from the Ered Luin, and of Khazad-dûm and the legend of Thorin Oakenshield. He spoke of the Beornings and of Dale, and although he only mentioned them briefly, Gandalf saw how his eyes brightened with the memory. But then Bilbo’s voice became quiet, and he spoke with hesitation of Erebor and the dragon.

Thorin again didn’t say very much. On occasion he added some detail, and it was only after Bilbo had fallen silent that he continued to explain how the company had found him in Erebor and had taken care of him.

“So Thorin isn’t a djinn anymore”, Bilbo eventually said. His voice was still husky, but he tried to cover it with a cough. “The dragon is dead. The curse has finally been broken.”

Gandalf didn’t reply at once. He had listened carefully, but he had also watched them closely. He had noticed how softly they had looked at each other whenever merrier memories were mentioned. He had seen how Thorin had placed his hand on Bilbo’s back to offer him comfort when the hobbit had talked about the events in Erebor, and he had also seen how Bilbo had reached for his hand during his part of the story. He saw a master who had given up all the power he held upon his djinn for his happiness, and he saw a djinn who had readily embraced the pain of disobeying a wish to save his master.

“My dear Bilbo”, the wizard eventually said, “maybe you’re right, and the curse has been broken with Smaug’s death. You shouldn’t forget, however, that there are other powers in this world – powers that are stronger than a dragon’s malice.”

Both of them blinked at him. “What do you mean by that, Gandalf?”, Bilbo asked. He frowned as the wizard showed no intention of answering his question, but got up instead.

“It means, Master Baggins, that this is a wonderful occasion for some fireworks”, Gandalf said as he gathered his hat and his staff. “A better one that I imagined. Actually I intended to show some of my fireworks tonight, but such good news deserve a bigger spectacle. I still need some preparation, so … tomorrow night.” He showed them a big smile. “I’ll see you at the party field!”

 

***

 

“That was strange”, Bilbo remarked when Gandalf had disappeared down the steps and they couldn’t see the tip of his hat any longer, “even for a wizard. He didn’t even stay for tea.”

Thorin shrugged. “It sounds lovely, though. Fireworks.” A smile appeared on his face. “This time I can enjoy it openly and do not have to hide in your pocket.”

Bilbo laughed. “I only hope that the children won’t run off with you this time!” He gave his dwarf a peck on the cheek. “Although it’s very likely that they will.”

The children of Hobbiton had quickly grown fond of Thorin, not heeding that he was a stranger and a dwarf at that – much to their parent’s initial dismay. Even Drogo and Primula had been wary of him at first, thinking that he had left Bilbo with a broken heart. They had frowned at the dwarf when Bilbo had tried to explain the situation as best as he could without mentioning any djinns and dragons, but their grudge had not lasted long as soon as they had seen how happy they were together.

“I think I should go to the market this afternoon”, Bilbo thought aloud, “so I can prepare some treats. We could have a little picnic while watching Gandalf’s fireworks.”

“If I remember correctly”, Thorin said as he rested his head on Bilbo’s shoulder, “then there was enough food to make the tables creak beneath it.”

“That’s right … but there weren’t any of my blueberry tartlets.” Bilbo chuckled at the longing sigh Thorin uttered. “I’ll make some of them for you. _Only_ for you, my dear”, he promised. “That is, if you help me with grocery shopping.”

“Will my help earn me a kiss?”, Thorin teased. “After all, I have to wait for the tartlets until tomorrow.”

“Impatient dwarf”, Bilbo chided, but gave him his kiss nonetheless. “But now to the market”, he eventually mumbled against his lips, “before all the blueberries are sold.”

They bought more than just blueberries, of course – Bilbo wanted to prepare a little feast for his dwarf. Cooking for Thorin was a delight, and during winter he had made sure that the last traces of his sickness had disappeared and he had regained strength. Cooking _with_ Thorin was even more wonderful, and he was already looking forward to it when they walked back to Bag End.

They didn’t go directly into the kitchen, however, since another visitor was waiting for them.

“Roac!”, Bilbo exclaimed as he noticed the raven sitting on the fence. “It’s been some while since we saw you! Do you bring us a letter from Dís?”

The raven croaked, spread its wings and – with a movement that was more of a hop – made itself comfortable on Thorin’s shoulder. Ever since it had brought the first letter from Dís and her company, it had been very fond of him. Its croak sounded quite merry as it fluffed up its feathers.

“Do not worry, Roac”, Thorin laughed. “Of course you will get some treat after your long flight. But let me take the letter from you at first, okay?”

Bilbo was already on his way into the kitchen to grab some food for the raven. Thorin followed him, the letter in his hands and Roac still perched on his shoulder. The bird sat there quietly; by now it knew that Bilbo wasn’t fond of feathers flying around inside of their home. As soon as they reached the kitchen, it hopped down and made itself comfortable on the back of a chair.

While Bilbo fed the remains of second breakfast to the raven – judging from the chirps it uttered, Roac enjoyed the leftover bacon very much –, Thorin sat down on another chair and began to read Dís’ letter.

“She sends us her love, and that of the other members of the company. They’re all quite merry now that winter has finally passed in the Blue Mountains as well. Although … She writes that she worries about Kíli.”

“About Kíli? Has anything happened to him? It’s nothing too serious, I hope?”

“That depends on the point of view, I guess.”

Hearing the amusement in Thorin’s voice, Bilbo looked up. His gaze softened, and he couldn’t help smiling at the sight. Thorin’s attention was still focused on the letter. He was smiling which created those lovely crinkles around his eyes. Spots of sunlight danced on his dark hair, and he looked so content and peaceful that Bilbo’s heart did a leap. Seeing him like this, it was difficult to remember that there had been a time when he hadn’t been able to imagine how his smile would look like.

Ignoring Roac’s croak of protest, he stepped behind Thorin’s chair and wrapped his arms around the dwarf. “Now what has happened to Kíli?”, he asked softly.

Thorin chuckled. “It seems he is still daydreaming about a certain elf lady – the warrior with the red hair, you remember?”

“I do. She was quite impressive, wasn’t she? Very fierce yet gentle … I can imagine that he’s rather smitten with her.”

“Dís writes that a suspiciously high number of ravens has been sent across the Misty Mountains, and, less subtly, he is pestering her about going on another journey to Dale. This summer, however, they would like to come to the Shire.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I’d love to see them again. They have to stay with us at Bag End, of course. Some of them will have to share rooms, but we should be able to host all of them and … Thorin? Is everything alright?”

He noticed with concern how the dwarf’s shoulders tensed all of a sudden. Thorin in turn pointed at the last lines of the letter. Bilbo bent forward and read aloud: “… and remember that you’re always welcome to visit us in our halls, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin … _Oakenshield_.” He blinked. “Oh.”

The dwarf turned to look at him. “How can they know?”

It took Bilbo a moment to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “Do you remember the story of Durin the Deathless?”

“I do.” Thorin’s shoulders were still tense, and Bilbo patted them gently.

“It seems logical, don’t you agree? After such a long time, they entered Erebor, finally freed from the dragon. And there they found you … I guess they believe that Thorin Oakenshield has returned to them, just as Durin the Deathless does.”

The dwarf was quiet as he let the words sink in. His hands were still holding the letter, and they trembled slightly as he slowly began to realize what walking amongst his people as Thorin Oakenshield would mean. He would be able to talk to them about Erebor; he could ask them whatever he wanted to learn about their folk, their history, and their traditions; one day he might even walk into their ancient home with them.

As Bilbo bent forward to press a kiss to his cheek, he could feel him smiling again. “You’ve returned to your folk, Thorin.”

Roac croaked at that, and it sounded like approval.

 

***

 

“How do I look?”, Thorin asked somewhat nervously after he had given his new neckerchief a last tug. He thought that he was dressed way too festive for a picnic, even if Gandalf showed his fireworks. But Bilbo had insisted on it, and he had also chosen the light trousers, cream shirt, silver waistcoat, and deep green jacket for him.

Right now the hobbit was staring rather dreamily at him; the basket with delicious treats and the wrapped-up picnic blanket on the table next to him were forgotten. “You look beautiful”, he whispered. Then an amused gleam appeared in his eyes. “But your neckerchief is a mess. Let me help you.”

He stepped in front of him, and Thorin bent down so Bilbo wouldn’t have to tiptoe. His gaze fell on the hobbit’s collarbone, on the silver bead with the greenstone inlays that rested there. He smiled, but as his gaze travelled up to look at Bilbo’s face, he noticed the frown between his beloved’s brows.

“An acorn for your thoughts”, he said softly.

Bilbo smiled distractedly, but shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being silly.”

Thorin clasped his hands around Bilbo’s to stop him from fidgeting with the neckerchief. “Bilbo”, he said, and the hobbit sighed, knowing very well that Thorin wouldn’t push him to speak, but would keep worrying about him.

“I’m concerned about something Gandalf said … or rather, about something he couldn’t tell us. He didn’t say anything about the consequences of you not being a djinn anymore. Like, you know, your age. I know it sounds weird, but …” Bilbo worried his lower lip. “You still look the same, as if nothing has changed. Actually that’s not quite true, you look much healthier.” With a soft smile, he added: “And happier.” But then the smile vanished again. “But how much time is given to you? I mean ... what if …” He searched for the right words before eventually saying in a rush: “Will you age like any dwarf now, starting at the point you were turned into a djinn, and outlive me? Or is it different, and one day I will wake up in an empty bed to find you gone?” At the last words, his voice turned into a mere whisper.

Thorin gently wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s neck and brought their foreheads together. He felt the hobbit’s shaky breath on his face, and he didn’t push him to speak. For a moment they stood like this, relishing the other’s presence and warmth.

During winter, it had happened from time to time that Bilbo had woken up in the dead of the night, sweat-covered and wide-eyed. Then he had clung to Thorin, and the dwarf had held him in his arms until his sobs had ceased, his heartbeat had calmed, and Bilbo’s voice had been firm enough again to tell him that he loved him. Thorin knew similar dreams – dreams in which he rushed through the whole of Middle Earth towards a green door just to find all rooms behind it empty, the sight of dust-covered armchairs and bookshelves causing him to fall on his knees.

But when he woke up, Bilbo was always there to pull him into his embrace, and his kisses assured him that he had just been dreaming.

“I do not think you have to worry”, Thorin eventually said and combed his fingers through Bilbo’s curls. “As long as I can think back, I have been bound to the phial. Now it is gone, but I am still here. And I feel that it is because of you. I am here because I am bound to you. I love you, and I will never leave you.”

Bilbo dug his face deeper into his shirt, his small body shaking with a heavy exhale. Thorin grazed a kiss on his forehead. “But even if I should be wrong, and I have to go before you … I promise that I will wait for you before I turn west – as I will follow you if you hear the call before me.”

His words drew a little laugh from Bilbo. “That’s only a small comfort”, he mumbled into his chest. “I know how bad your sense of direction is.”

Thorin chuckled softly. “Then we have to wait for each other, and travel into the west together. We could meet beneath the tree on top of Bag End …”

At that, Bilbo looked up. Surprise stood on his face, but within heartbeats, his expression melted into something infinitely soft. “This almost sounds like a promise for eternity.”

Thorin placed a hand on his cheek and moved his thumb over it in circles. “Only almost?”, he asked in a quiet voice. “How can I make you forget about that little word?”

“You …”, Bilbo began, but then he had to swallow. His eyes were glassy, and he didn’t manage to start his question anew.

“Of course”, Thorin whispered and gave him a gentle kiss. “That is, if you will have a former djinn who has lost all his powers …”

“Of course”, Bilbo replied and answered the kiss with the same tenderness. “We could speak to the mayor tonight”, he eventually mumbled. “He has to be present as an official, but apart from that a … a wedding ceremony is quite simple amongst hobbits. Most hold a feast for their family and friends, and exchange vows …” He reached for the silver bead in Thorin’s hair and held it between his fingers with a smile on his face.

“How about summer?”, the dwarf asked. “I would like to invite our friends from the Ered Luin. Besides”, he could feel a blush rising into his cheeks, “I have to ask them how to put a marriage braid into your hair.”

“In summer, then.” Bilbo was beaming at him now. He gave Thorin’s braids a little tug to draw him even closer. “I love you … my betrothed.”

Before Thorin could answer, Bilbo pulled him into a kiss. The hobbit sank against him, and Thorin wrapped his arms around him. He felt as if his heart could burst with emotion any moment, and if his embrace was a tad stronger than usual then Bilbo didn’t say anything about it. Quite the contrary: He deepened their kiss, causing Thorin to sigh into the caress with yearning. He nudged Bilbo a few steps back until they bumped against the table. Then he let go of the hobbit’s lips to press little kisses to his jaw and neck instead. Bilbo moaned softly, and as Thorin’s mouth wandered across his throat, he could feel him swallow thickly.

“Thorin, now’s not the time”, he protested weakly. “Gandalf invited us, and we have to go to the party field …”

“That, my love, is not true”, the dwarf replied, barely lifting his lips from Bilbo’s skin. “Gandalf invited us to watch his firework, and that will not begin before nightfall. Which means”, he grabbed Bilbo’s hips, lifted him up and put him down on the edge of the table, “that we have got lots of time for ourselves.”

The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon when they arrived at the party field. Bilbo was still wearing a flush on his face. “They will know why we are late”, he mumbled although he had checked – several times – that nothing would give away how much they had enjoyed each other’s closeness. “At least Gandalf will know. He always knows everything.”

“I think most people already know how happy we are together”, Thorin answered in an easy manner and brought Bilbo’s hand to his lips to kiss it.

“That’s true. And they’ve grown very fond of you, my dear.”

And indeed: They weren’t treated like strangers, but welcomed by friendly greetings and smiles as they spread their picnic blanket on the ground. After they had made themselves comfortable, Thorin drank in the sight. Most of the hobbits had brought baskets with treats with them as well, but there were also tables with food and drink. Like the last time Gandalf had been to Hobbiton, the great party tree was adorned with colourful lampions, and Thorin watched how they lightly swung in the soft breeze. It was a very dream-like ambience, and he smiled, happy that he could walk freely amongst the hobbits to enjoy it.

He smiled as Bilbo handed him one of his blueberry tartlets before leaning against his shoulder with a happy sigh. The hobbit’s body was soft and warm, and Thorin wrapped one arm around him as they looked up into the night sky, waiting for Gandalf to show his art.

“Oh, look!” Bilbo pointed up with excitement. It wasn’t any of the wizard’s whizz-poppers, however, but a bright spark, drawing a silver tail into the dark sky. “A shooting star!” Without taking his eyes off it, he shuffled closer until his curls tickled Thorin’s cheek. “If you see a shooting star”, he explained, “then you are allowed to make a wish. You mustn’t tell anybody your wish, though, or it won’t come true.”

Thorin gazed at the bright star. “What could I wish for?”, he asked. “I am perfectly happy.”

Bilbo tilted his head to look into his face. His eyes shone bright in the light of the lampions, and he showed his dwarf a most enchanting smile. “In that case, my love”, he said while bringing his lips close to Thorin’s, “you are allowed to wish for a bit more happiness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the final chapter of 1001 Wishes!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for reading, and for leaving me such wonderful and uplifting comments! I loved reading all of them, and I'm so happy that you enjoyed this AU! I still remember how nervous I was before posting the first chapter, and how I wondered if people would like this AU or where the story would eventually lead me to ... Writing this was really delightful, and I will miss it very much - But I will probably share some more ficlets of this universe ^-^ (And, as usual, I've got way more ideas for other AUs than actual time to write ... *sighs*)
> 
> So until that: Thank you so much!!! ＼(´∀｀●)／

**Author's Note:**

> This AU has been on my mind for a long time, but I got some ideas on my holiday ... Comments are always appreciated - I'm curious to hear your thoughts about that special kind of AU ^^


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